In search

Down the rabbit hole

I jumped in search

Of the voice, lost

Long back amidst

The chaos of every

Day’s monotony

Of feelings felt

But left unturned

Of thoughts thought

But left unpenned

Of the myriad opinions

Left to oneself

And the burning

Sagacious questions

Swallowed down without a care

For it’s easier

To go numb

And shut down the mind

The heart and soul

To shield

From the vagaries of life

From the cruel hands of fate

And the painful desperation

Of actions going wrong

And injustices being wrought

Of despair haunting every corner

Or hurt lurking under the skin

Just waiting to be sniffed out

From their glory holes

And turn every normal beating heart


For it’s easier, the ignorance

Than the raw nerves

Exposed to everything


But what a pity

For to truly build a fort

Must you lock in

Your self

And everything happy,

Hope, love, and change.

What dreams were made of

With you and me
The two of us
Enough to be a family

How long have I waited
Not for a white dress
Or a knight in shining armour
Or for a red poofy skirt
Or to throw puffs of rice

Neither did I long for the yellow tattoos
Nor for the henna to darken
The big special day
Never trumps the normal decades that follow
Not for me

What I wanted was
The weekly trips to the supermarket
Fights over monthly expenditure
Small wins over who gets the remote
And then sleeping halfway through it

My dreams were full of
Sunday morning drives
Followed by a simple breakfast in a corner stall
Then came the lunch
Cooked with last night’s leftovers
And a deep fulfilling nap

No romantic roses made the cut
Nor did vows of forever after or the impossibles
I only wanted the daily routine
A partner to witness and share
The meagre vagaries of life

Was it too much to ask for?

A clean house

A clean house

Things in place

People in quiet corners

Stuck to their poison

Laptops, mobiles or television

It’s a clean house

No sign of anything amiss

Bedsheets tucked, clothes folded

Utensils washed, windows cleaned

It’s a very clean house

Donned with polite smiles

And goody small talk

A diplomat couldn’t be prouder

One step in

And you’d be wowed

The open floor

The gleaming surfaces

Except for the cobwebs

Hidden in the corners

Or under the table

Or the dust beneath the carpet

Open the closets

You’ll see the grime

The rust that rots the iron

And the rancid acid

That dissolves from the inside

Within the wardrobe

Are stuffed

The broken hearts

Dreams and trusts

Inside the mind

That’s forgotten kinship

Empathy and compassion

Only apathy lies

Behind a face plaid with make-up

Designed to beguile

Designed to dazzle

But it’s a very clean house

Oh, yes indeed

Move on

“Move on.”

“I can’t.”




“Because it would be murder. All those memories we painstakingly collected, they will be long forgotten. No, I’d rather smile and cry whenever I remember you and our memories. Some day, the edges of these memories are going to get frayed and dog-eared like a beloved book read again and again. I’d rather our memories too die a natural death. I don’t want them to meet a preemptive end. You move on. You need to. I’m happy here.”




There are many kinds of silences witnessed in our world.

The silence of peace and quietude;
The silence of indifference;
The silence of death, war and destruction;
The silence of pain, sorrow and grief;
Even the silence of love and romance, as lovers stare into each others eyes;
The silence of observation;
The silence of a mental conversation;
The silence of quiet contemplation and deep thought;
Or even the silence of the moment of decision-making;
Then there’s the silence of companionship;
The silence of expectations—often called a pregnant pause;
The silence of nature, confident of its own ways and whims;
The silence of vacuum;
The silence of mutual understanding;
Even the silence of focus and concentration, the likes of which you see in exam halls, each to their own;
There’s the silence of meditation and spirituality;
The silence of emotions when words fall short of doing true justice to feelings;
The silence full of unsaid words and meanings;
The silence of shock,
And there’s the silence that fills you in solitude.

But there’s a silence like whiplash; if words can hurt, then this can sting, in ways unimaginable.

And that is silence that follows a death of a relationship, when two people suddenly run out of things to speak about, a blinding contrast to times when words overflew and toppled over one another like waterfall. The silence that follows then is remarkable. That, more than anything else, can break your heart into pieces.

A Bed of Memories

Memories. We collect them all our lives like roses from a bed of flowers. Like shells from the sea floor.
Usually, they bring a smile on our face. As we relive those moments, often innocuous and barely noteworthy. Yet, they are the ones that manage to fill our hearts up with emotion.
Sometimes, these very memories leave a bitter taste in our mouths.

Memories. We collect them all our lives like roses from a bed of flowers. Like shells from the sea floor.
Usually, they bring a smile on our face. As we relive those moments, often innocuous and barely noteworthy. Yet, they are the ones that manage to fill our hearts up with emotion.
Sometimes, these very memories leave a bitter taste in our mouths. We go to great lengths to avoid some memories. Even the good ones. Those hurt more.
They make you feel the magnificence of time. Throw the differences in sharp relief.
It never ceases to amaze me.
Last year, I would’ve celebrated memories with my friend or some loved one. Today, in their absence, the very same memory chokes me and fills my heart with longing and sorrow.
It’s a never ending circle.
I had mistakenly believed that it was an error on my part to make myself vulnerable with people who I knew were not trustworthy. I thought guards would safeguard me from any pain and suffering.
Today, I realised that guards only jail you inside the confines of your mind. You are never really free. And it is not about being trustworthy; it is simply a passage of time. What comes has to go.
Just because people don’t remain doesn’t mean they never were loyal, trustworthy and truthful. Their time was up. That’s all. In my life, that is.
That shouldn’t stop me from opening up, being vulnerable and making memories.
After all, when I am 80 years old, a frail lady, these memories will serve me company. They will be the stories I could tell kids and grandkids.
And thus, life goes on.

Humane serendipity


Do you remember that scene from the soap ‘Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi’, (*cringing*) when the protagonist – Tulsi – found out about her husband’s affair, and then ran into a park wailing and howling? No?

Well, the part I am referring to, and is important for this post, is when a foreign lady finds Tulsi crying and offers sympathy. She enquires as to reason behind Tulsi’s tears.

At that time, I remember feeling embarrassed for Tulsi that a stranger is consoling her. I was a kid back then.

Today, I realise the humanity in that action. Having been through such episodes (no, no cheating husbands here, though) where strangers have offered comfort in whatever way possible to a crying me (not shamed to admit that I cry), it seems like a poignant action.

The first time, I remember being startled and, to be frank, suspicious about the nerdy-looking guy’s intentions. “What if the mp3 player he was offering to me as a balm had a bomb in it?” I wondered back then.

Weird thought, yes. But then, that’s how our city upbringing hones us to frown upon politeness and such sweet actions from strangers.

Yet, I remember feeling guilty about the doubt, and mentally thanked the guy. I wish I’d showed my gratitude better, in a more public or open way. That is another thing we are stopped from doing. Showing open gratitude or emotions.

Even today, many experiences later, it somehow feels like a very special serendipitous situation; like the universe anticipated my grief and sent a saviour.

The religious will call it the Hand of God. Some may call it Karma — a result of some good deed either in this life, or in the previous lives.

If the latter were true, I have undertaken some major good deeds in my many lives!

Either way, it shows that simple actions — no matter how small — may cause great outcomes. It made me understand the power of time and gratitude, of timely actions and reactions.