27 Dec 2011

the mountains that never move.

...gandi baaten karti hun, gandi kitaaben padhti hun;
 gande se sher likhe hain, gandi gandi si kahaniya kehti hun.
gande log nahin, gandi to gandagi bhi nahin;
 mail kahin aur pada hai, mujhpar raaton ka andhera ghangor chada hai...

...aadhe likhe nazmon me shabd joda karti hoon,
iski uski baaten sunkar kisse batora karti hoon.
us raah par tu hai nahin jahan har shaam guzaarti jaati hun,
is raat me sath tera nahin jiski sihai se tujhpar geet likhe jaati hun...


गन्दी बातें करती हूँ, गन्दी किताबें पढ़ती हूँ;
गंदे से मैंने शेर लिखे hain, गन्दी गन्दी कहानिया कहती हूँ|
गंदे तो लोग नहीं, गन्दी कहानियां भी कहाँ है? 
मैल कहीं और पड़ा है, मुझपर रातों का अँधेरा घनघोर चढ़ा है|

आधे लिखे नज्मों में शब्द जोड़ा करती हूँ, 
इसकी, उसकी बातें सुनकर किस्से बटोरा करती हूँ|
उस राह पर तू नहीं जहाँ हर शाम गुजारती जाती हूँ, 
इस रात में तेरा साथ नहीं जिसकी सिहाई से तुझपर गीत लिखे जातो हूँ|


16 Dec 2011


Every day. 

I walk with measured steps. Measuring and counting and timing my steps. To make sure I don’t walk too far away, to ensure that I walk just enough, just enough to make sure that I seem to be moving, but then not too far away to seem to have left. I walk the same road every day; stop at the same places, the places where it will be difficult to go unnoticed. Every day I seem to be just the same amount of desperate, the same amount of moronic and the same amount of incorrigible. But I make sure I am different enough to not look too repetitive.  I reiterate feelings; I reboot life after each night’s denial. Every day, I walk taking measured steps. Every day.

Every day, unnoticed, unwanted. Everyday unnerving, morose. Every day.

Every night is the same night, everyday there is a new morning.

Every day. 

4 Dec 2011

well, all you had to do was run your fingers on my lips, look deep into my eyes, and kiss...

...yeah, that simple. 

29 Nov 2011


Go away.

Before I can even muster a whimper, go away.
Before my sighs turn into sobs, go away.
Go away before dusk settles into the imminent night when I would want you to sit next to me, indulging in star gazing.
Leave alright; leave before I can settle in you, comfortably, before you settle in my heart, mind, soul. Leave, turn around and leave. Walk away like you did tonight, walk away like you will when I strip my soul naked in front of you.
Leave before, I confess, leave before I reveal.
Leave before the plastic wears out, the real sinks in, leave. Leave before my desire becomes my need, go away before I become too much.
Walk out on me, for that I can handle.
Walk out, for that is what you will eventually do.


27 Nov 2011

the end

all along, I thought you were the only truth, turns out, you were the biggest farce of them all.

12 Nov 2011


..Lost in you, lost in your embrace, lost in your thoughts, lost to your thoughts, lost to you…

Lost in the books I have read, lost in the characters, Draupadi’s strength, Dominique’s belief, Cathy’s love, Maya’s eccentricity. Lost in melodies, the mysticism of whirling Sufis, the dhols and the tablas, the violins and the guitars. The sky, the wind, the wings, the bike.
Lost in your words, lost in your smile, lost in your hands, lost in your stubble, lost in the hair.
The pale pink lips pumped to red seductresses. Red laces, pink thongs;
the heart, wrenched, eroded, crumpled, re-garnished, and resurrected?

“Nothing excites me anymore.”
“ you are either In ‘deep’ love or are insane; do you have suicidal thoughts?”

Find me. 

kaaga re kaaga re mori itni araj tujhse chun chun khaiyo maans
khaiyo na tu naina more, khaiyo na tu naina mohe piya ke milan ki aas..

-Nadaan Parindey

5 Nov 2011


I lie awake. sobbing, wasted, half naked. alone. I am not sad, I am alone. very alone.

look up, look around me, look for places where I hide, there is not a single place where I can lie comfortably. Night does not hide anything, the darker it gets, the clearer the bolder the picture emerges.
Who would find me if I am lost? who would make the effort? Would I want you to make the effort? "Why" is the most important question. Why should anyone make an effort to find someone who is lost. This is hypocritical, I am talking of getting lost in full public glare, not hiding it with poetic stances, am noting it out, in prose.

I know for sure, work wont miss me. My phone will not ring even if I leave it alone for months together. The inbox is already full of spam.

Will you shed a tear and say  'she used to be some one I once knew'?

How it would feel to me and to others I see everyday if I were to be lost to the world?
I am already ain't I? 

1 Nov 2011


A pair of lips…a pair of hands…a pair of eyes…a pair of breasts…a pair of legs…a pair…us.

10 Oct 2011

katiya karoon...saari raati katiya karoon..

tu hai na..'tu' kehkar pukaar mujhe, apna sa lagta hai...
tu mere chaadar ke silwaton me chupi teri chuppi ke sath mujhse lipta sa lagta hai....ek aur duur kahin se tu pukare to 'aaja yaar' kehkar pukar mujhe...main mud kar dekhun to muskura...mere jahan me teri hi bas ek surat hai jaise, aisa lagta hai...
...aaj raasta paar karna ho, mera hath thaam kar 'ab ruk zara' keh mujhse, mera haath tere haathon ke sath tarasha ho aisa lagta hai...
...mujhse mil, meri aankhon me jhaankh zara, meri rooh me teri jhalak si ho jaise lagta hai...

...tu kuch mujhsa lagta hai...main tu hun, tu main hun...tu kuch mujhme samaya sa lagta hai

...hadh karoon, hadh karoon....

(line in italics and the title from the song 'KATIYA KARUN' Rockstar)

6 Oct 2011

of goats and sheeps and wolves.

step 1: make a mistake.
step 2: find a scapegoat.

its effing gruesome being a junior especially when you are a senior to some juniors who are also juniors to your seniors who dont mind displaying their seniority in front of your juniors and do not bother to share the blame when their senior (who is your super-senior) uses you as the punchbag.

...behti ganga me to bhaiya har koi haath dhota hai...

so if you are a scapegoat go get a life.
if you are on a scapegoat lookout get your a** off here. 


would you wait for her to slay your demons too?


27 Sep 2011

long nights - 2

I got off the train and from the other door to the same compartment got off another girl, almost my age.
He was standing there, he took her luggage first and then took her hand into his and broke into a smile. She beamed back at him...they walked in front of me hand in hand telling each other stories of how much they missed each other, how much she missed him was evident from the fact that she could not take her hands off his back...
I suddenly remembered she had asked me what the next stop was. She had been waiting on the door for more than 30 minutes...it was worth the wait. Sure was.

I took a taxi and headed back home. 

17 Sep 2011

long nights

I wish to see you once before the end. I wish to meet you for the first time again. I wish to unlearn all I know, of you of the world. Of everything I ever knew. Let’s make new beginnings. Meet me like you will meet a stranger. I wish for a new dawn. I wish this night ended.

But it does not work that way does it? I can’t just wish for things to happen. 

13 Sep 2011


So your first language is your mother tongue?

What is the first language you choose to ask a question to another person when you travel in the first class?


Yes, I write in English, I think in English and the language I am most comfortable in is English, no doubt, but when I have to ask what station I am on, I will ask the question in Hindi, it is just how it is. 

This lady in the train was reading a ‘gruhashobha’,  was wearing a purple lipstick, with gaudy eye makeup. I was trying to figure her out, she then turns around and with a thick Bihari accented English asks me what station it was and I was flabbergasted.

I couldn’t speak. She assumed I didn’t know the language. 

She got off anyways.

I am too shallow. meh!

7 Sep 2011

2 Sep 2011

ah well.

this one : i love to hate to love to hate.

this one : i wish i could love enough.

this one : i wish i loved less.

this one : i wish, loved me back. 

1 Sep 2011

dig a pit and bury yourself in it.

my dad just wants him to be qualified.
my mom...God knows what she is serious about, except in her obsession with cracking PJs and making my life a long standing one.
and my brother ogles at his 'female' FBfriends.

I may say a lot but I cant. wont. no one will listen. 

28 Aug 2011

war and peace

They shout out and tell me the war is over.
They greet me and leave not able to read the poker face.
I should have guessed they killed the enemy within, but I as looked on;
They turned their back on me,once again, broke into that race.


6 Aug 2011

*Ek lamhe ko to ruke; wo bhi nahin, hum bhi nahi..*

It is weird ain't it? The head tries vehemently, furiously to erase things, replace the old...to replace the supposedly good with evil sometimes because 'it was', because it is not 'now'. 
The hand. 
The hand holds onto everything, everything that is within grasping reach...Trying to feed the mind with 'new'.

The heart admist the chaos, even within itself somehow manages to keep 
that one door locked, away from anyone's reach...

...Even yours because you are locked in it...

1 Aug 2011

the letter

To You,

My dear Mr. Perfect, Please don’t be perfect. Be rugged and edgy. Don’t sandpaper your rawness away. I won’t mind if you miss a few words when you sing my favorite song, or have that out-of-bed hair like almost always. You should be a wordsmith, the master of words. I won’t mind if I am lost in them. But my dear you, since I choose you, you know that words don’t remain mere, when they are said, when they are meant.  Mean what you say, say what you mean. My dear you, I won’t expect you read out Keats or Hemmingway to me, but when you look at me when I read them out to you, *the look made with all sweet accord* do let me know that you are understanding all I say, and more.

My dear Mr. Special, walk with me in the rains, let me kiss you when we do, just hold my hand and lead me. Don’t stand there with an umbrella when it rains…pull me out into the rain and get me drenched.
Soaking mock my resistance. Indulge in me. Indulge me.

Let me look up to you, with respect. Look at you with love. Look forward for bliss.

Hey you, you know this don’t you? Just don’t be too easy or I might look right past you, or be too difficult that I would not bother at all. Just be right, be just right. Like the balance when I am weak you hold me up, when you are I would do the same. Too sweet is not what I want and bitter is not what lasts. Just the right mix will preserve ‘US’ forever.

Call me up at bizarre times at bizarre places for bizarre things. Make it impossible for me to fake and when you see that I am losing out kidnap me and save me. be my guardian angel. Be what you are, make up for what I lack. Me, complete me.

…..(to be continued)

Love, Me.

17 Jul 2011

this is why I was VAGABOND...

The Vagabond

Give to me the life I love,
Let the lave go by me,
Give the jolly heaven above
And the byway nigh me.
Bed in the bush with stars to see,
Bread I dip in the river -
There's the life for a man like me,
There's the life for ever.

Let the blow fall soon or late,
Let what will be o'er me;
Give the face of earth around
And the road before me.
Wealth I seek not, hope nor love,
Nor a friend to know me;
All I seek, the heaven above
And the road below me.

Or let autumn fall on me
Where afield I linger,
Silencing the bird on tree,
Biting the blue finger.
White as meal the frosty field -
Warm the fireside haven -
Not to autumn will I yield,
Not to winter even!

Let the blow fall soon or late,
Let what will be o'er me;
Give the face of earth around,
And the road before me.
Wealth I ask not, hope nor love,
Nor a friend to know me;
All I ask, the heaven above
And the road below me.

-Robert Louis Stevenson


...this is why I am VAGABOND again =)

9 Jul 2011

red ink

there is one you could live without, there is one you should live without, there is one you learn to live without. 

there is no one you cannot live without.


baadal kaale nahin...saanwle se hain...
baarish bhi kuch dhundh si maloom hoti hai...

aankhon me nami si hai bhi...nahi bhi
tu kuch yaad sa hai bhi...nahi bhi.

sirhane ek kitaab padi hai...uski ek pankti me tera zikr sa hai...
meri zubaan par tera naam sa aaya bhi...nahin bhi.

tera chehra, yaad, zara sa hai bhi...nahin bhi...
adhkhuli aankon ka dekha wo tera sapna hai bhi...nahin bhi...

mere jahan me bas tu hi hai...
tu is jahan me hai bhi...nahi bhi...


2 Jul 2011

random conversation: ass you like it. =P

prelude: A very cheeky midnight conversation that turned into a lot of name calling. (read koala bear/guinea pig). A very cheeky morning sms sparks off the following conversation.

N.B.: cheeky morning sms: "emotional lines by a desperate lover....I want her back =( and I want her front too =( "

Bored 1: ass-ome lines.

Bored 2: ass-tounding is more like it. =P

B1: hmm...ad-(d)-vice for ass-piring despos...

B2:  that is your ass-umption.

B1: haha....ass-ential guide to despo-dom...

B2: ass you say!


ass-entially the post ass-pires to be funny but fails.
bite me.

image:  HERE

16 Jun 2011

a hand on my heart.

I am tad overweight...but there has to be a pair of hands which can wrap around me and hug me.
One thing that fits just right.
One place where I can be lost to the world.

13 Jun 2011

A strange familiarity.

lovers are not lovers for love's sake.
love is not always illogical or blind or a momentary lapse of reason.
love is not love for love's sake.
love does not need a love story, love does not need to be professed, love does not need to be found.
it just materializes, as an answer to questions that haunt you, striking you at the moment you least expected.

for all questions there is an answer, and that answer more often than not is love.  


i stole a story, i loved it...i hope you like it too. 


orignal link : A strange familiarity.
author : Krish


The rain was knocking hard on the window panes and he was surprised to be annoyed with the same sound that he once loved and romanticized about. Nakul had arrived at the hill station 2 days ago, riding all through the night. But, his plans of exploring a beautiful terrain that held a soothing promise were thwarted by the incessant rains, making it impossible to get out of his hotel room. He checked his smart-phone for a signal. Like most guys of his open and collaborative generation, his first reaction to any feeling of elation or frustration was to share it with friends on FB. It is incredible, he thought, the way social networking sites have helped him and most of his friends in anger management by forcing them to summarise their screaming agony in just a few words. Left all alone in one’s own company, with nothing to do, could be unnerving for most and Nakul was writhing in its clutches now. Idle and without the means to express his irritation to a truly global audience, he finally decided to get drenched, pocketing some coins for a hot cup of coffee.

It was pouring outside and after trying unsuccessfully for over an hour to get some sleep, Hazel decided to walk to the balcony and watch the grey skies and their whole hearted expression of love for the green valley stretching in front of her eyes. She has been here for a week now, all by herself. “I cannot last a night if left by myself”, her friend had confessed with a wide eyed amazement at Hazel’s plans of a solo trip. She wasn’t entirely comfortable of her own company either, but then it was a time when serious decisions had to be taken. She had to find a few answers, an arduous affair, much like trying to find a piece of paper with scribbled poetry, lost in the clutter of a room or searching for a page with memorable lines in a thick novel. It needed a peaceful ambience away from the overpowering concern of the older generation, which, in her opinion had the ridiculous habit of administrating solutions without even comprehending the problem in its entirety. But 7 days into her trip, her mind was still like the troubled surface of a river, which refused to let her see what is hidden beneath.

The first time she saw him, he was standing at the edge of the cliff, holding on to a bamboo pole, and trying to get a full view of the valley, mindless that he was dripping from head to toe. “Men could be so stupid”, she thought, “incapable of even taking care of themselves, leave alone others.” She wondered what fun there was in shivering under a cold shower, with muddy pants and a soaked head. Nakul turned around suddenly, almost feeling her stare on his back. She was beautiful, in a casual shirt and pyjamas, with frazzled hair and an amused look. He became conscious and slowly walked to his bike parked a few meters away and got busy trying to move it farther away from the sun shade, from the edge of which, water was pouring down in a thick stream. “That confirms it”, she thought, “worried about the bike getting wet.” He couldn’t see her mischievous smile.

The skies had cleared finally, the next day. It was a beautiful morning the sun shining gently on the rain-kissed leaves of the valley, almost too gently, as if to caress the glistening drops perched on blades of grass. The breakfast was sumptuous and the tea was heart warming. He was enjoying the view of the distant mountains, seemingly rising from the fumes emanating from his cup.

“Quite a morning, huh?” Her voice startled him and he could only manage a sheepish smile that instant. For years, he has been underlining lines from romantic novels to quote as an impressive response when the opportunity presents itself. But suddenly they felt shy as well, preferring to lose themselves in some hazy alley of his mind.
“Soothing, especially after 2 terribly depressing days”, he manufactured a reply. He badly needed company and was absolutely unaware of her need for the same.
“Nah, longer! I have been here for a week but haven’t had a chance to walk around much.”
“That makes this morning all the more precious.” His smile had a hint of flirtation in it. “For you”, he added.
“Aren’t you interested in exploring the place?”
“I will. My bike is itching to get on the road. ”
“Ah, I see. I will get going then, before the sun decides to get cosy behind the clouds.” she smiled subtly, even as she exercised her poetic license, a little bit.
“I can do with some company.”
“Me too. But I feel a walk is much more pleasurable.”

He hadn’t always liked women who were confident enough to make the first move with strangers. “She knows where to draw the line, though”, he thought. He was surprised to find that he was impressed with this trait, in spite of his prior preferences and prejudices. He made a mental note.

“I can let my bike rest a little longer, if it isn’t a problem with you.”

They walked all morning. He realised that silence when used well could be comforting. You could spend hours with a person just admiring a beautiful valley or sitting on the edge of the lake. He realised he was wrong in believing that every moment has to be painted in the shades of a romantic conversation to make it memorable. The beaten track in front of him seemed more familiar than it would normally do. Everything around him seemed drenched. But in the bright sun, everything seemed to sparkle in hundreds of unheard and unseen colours, as if to show they weren’t complaining about the rain at all. From time to time, they would come across streams that would cut beneath the roads like tiny cascades. At other times, the sound of the gushing waters would resonate all through the woods, without really making an appearance, much like a bass violin that completes a symphony without really taking over at any point of time.

It started to drizzle once again towards noon and they decided to grab their lunch while they wait for it to cease. They had muddy feet and jeans drawn up to their knees. They could so easily have been mistaken for childhood friends, who had nothing in common except for the need to run away from all things concrete and instead, hide in the dense foliage and grand hues spreading all in front of their eyes.

“So what do you look for when you visit a new place?” she asked finally, to get his attention. She was annoyed that he was surveying his photos for quite some time now and she made no secret of her annoyance.
“What do you look for?” he tried to indulge her desire to have a conversation.
“Nothing particular. Good places express themselves in their own ways.”
“Then you would carry more memories than guys with cameras usually do” he replied, appreciating her idea of looking at things. “Do guys with cameras, fighting with angles and light all the time, annoy you?”
“Not always. But sometimes, I just wish they enjoyed the charm of the image they want to freeze. I don’t see much sense in creating memories when you don’t pause a while to realise why you want to cherish them.”

It is incredible how inconsistent, a gift eloquence is, he felt. You don’t always get answers at the time and from the person you want them from. He made a mental note once again.

“I was searching for this”. He showed her a photo of hers admiring a pair of lovebirds, hands in her pockets, bare feet teasing the grass. She would have been annoyed if she knew someone was staring at her through his camera. But now, with the moment dangling with life in front of her eyes, she couldn’t help but acknowledge the fact that it was a moment that deserved to be frozen.

The next morning, he accepted her idea of having breakfast back in her room. He was surprised how much better the room felt compared to his, although the colours and the furnishing were much the same. It was in the way the curtains were drawn out to bring in the right amount of light, in the way, every single thing was present where it is supposed to be, as if with a purpose and in the way, it would please the housekeeping guys when they come to clean the place after her departure.

“What is it about women and orderliness, almost to the extent of insanity?”
“If you had a girl friend, would you like it, if you are tossed into the same place as the rest of her friends or treated like anyone else?”

They exchanged smiles.

“So what is it that you guys love about lovemaking?” Hazel asks a slightly embarrassed Nakul, even as he was excited, trying to get some photos of 2 mating birds.
“Surely, this isn’t the first time you are witnessing it?” she asks, with mischief unabashedly portrayed all over her face.
“Well, it is interesting but the reason varies. Some guys love the aesthetics, some guys love the passion, some love the form and others are almost incurably stuck in the habit, just as unaware of it as we are of our habit of looking for the toothbrush even before our eyes are fully open every morning.”
“So obsessed?”
“Yes. I would be lying if I deny.”
“At least you are honest. Not that I would have believed you if you said you never cared about that aspect of guys and that you were different.”

He had his fair share of relationships, in college and at workplace. Over the last couple of years he has ceaselessly flirted with women, young and old. But, the last few days with Hazel had been unbelievably enriching as far as his understanding of the fairer gender’s psyche was concerned. Perhaps, it was because of the absence of any pretence or inhibitions on either person’s part, he felt. He wasn’t wrong. He was stationed at an important juncture of his life, with his parents constantly pestering him to get into the whole business of meeting daughters of their family friends, colleagues and distant relatives and choose their prospective daughter in law. Hazel had provided him more answers than he could imagine getting from his girlfriends of the past. For the first time in his life, he felt the peace that one finds in being honest and without the burden of living up to someone’s expectations, whether it is your own family or a girlfriend who expects you to be everything you are not.

“I never realised until now that this could be fun.” Hazel thoroughly enjoyed the walk in the rain. The very thought of her family, being annoyed at her getting drenched in the rain, with a stranger, comforted her even more.
“So, do you flirt with every girl who comes your way?” she asks, with an innocence that only women can exhibit, almost sweeping him off his feet.
“It isn’t intentional. I guess my group of friends and I never really found our muse, and hence we are still painfully stuck in the search for the perfect one. Every new person is a ray of hope and that immediately sets us on the wrong track if you know what I mean.”

Opening up to her was so easy and he failed to tell her that he has never been this eloquent with his thoughts or intentions. For once he cared about being liked for what he was, rather than for what he portrayed. He never knew until that point, that there was such a big difference between the two.

“So what’s your story? All I know about you is your name. Although, I would have preferred to ask this question with a casual air, I am failing to hide my excessive interest to know more.”
“What makes you so sure, you know the right name?” She was laughing at his surprised expression, although her laughter wasn’t completely bereft of guilt. “But I am at least, the person you have been talking to for the last few days.” He understood what she meant and was actually relieved at the possibility that she can read his doubts.

They decided one evening to visit the coffee plantations in the region. It was something about the ambience and the mud tracks that put one at ease. Freshness has a fragrance and neither had enjoyed it to the extent that they were now experiencing. She loved the way he nonchalantly walked through the greenery, uninhibited in his curiosity, in spite of her presence. Her cyan coloured shirt, slightly unkempt but long hair and the click of her anklets added to his experience of enjoying the woods. He observed that she had the odd habit of picking up fallen flowers, of all colours, stuffing them in her dangling bag. Neither of them was driven by the unnerving need of making the other person comfortable. They were absolutely at ease, even when he would spend quite a lot of time, getting his angles with the camera right, or she would just examine the coffee plants for an abnormally long time.

“So do you like Dominique?” He was shaken out of a reverie with this sudden enquiry, even as the meaning slowly dawned on him. She would have noticed the book on my couch, this morning.
I love her.”
“Can you handle it, if you do find her someday?” she smiled.
“Certainly not! And that, my smart lady, is the story of every guy of my generation. We love everything that we cannot handle.” His generalization had a hint of exaggeration to it accentuated by a flashy grin, but he didn’t seem to mind it, supremely satisfied at his own understanding of men.
“Do you like Roark more or Oliver Barrett?” He enquired.
“The prospect of testing out a Roark is mouth watering,” she replied. “But in the end most women love what they can handle”, she added.
“Are you like most women?”
“Most women are like most women most of the times. But I wouldn’t generalize. I wouldn’t mind a rich Gatsby, though”, she laughed. Yes, she loves her literature and he seemed to like that.

He seemed to recover from the daze he wore over the last one month. That alone had satisfied the purpose of his trip. She seemed to make up her mind on certain things, strengthened and weakened in different ways. She was taking the bus back home and it was due to depart that night. They chose to spend the morning on the idyllic banks of a lake nearby. The coincidence of finding a stranger in the hills who feels distinctly familiar could be a joy and they chose to bask in it while it lasts. They discussed a wide variety of topics ranging from Lady Gaga’s dressing sense to the possibility of the existence of Loch Ness monster in the very lake that they were admiring at the moment. They argued about the importance of money but agreed that tickets at multiplexes were unfairly high. They almost quarrelled over the idea of possessiveness amongst lovers, and discussed the pros and cons of arranged marriages. They were like husband and wife, only without knowing anything about each other’s life. Yet, they felt, they knew everything about each other’s ways. In a week’s time, they had argued, quarrelled, sulked, pampered, angered, ridiculed, dismissed and appreciated each other more times than their normal lives could have ever permitted them to. Yet, they had both chosen reticence, until now when it came to details about their private lives.

“So, what brought you here? Incredible that we never got around to talking about that,” she never came to terms with the idea that some guys could pick their backpack and set off on a bike in the eeriness of a starless night.
“I was upset.”
“About what?”
“Being rejected.”
“By whom?”
“A girl I never met.”
“Was she so important?”
“No. I have been meeting quite a few of them off late, with my parents pestering me for marriage. It is so annoying, and yet there is no escaping from it.”
“I have always felt like a mannequin, standing in a designer-wear showroom.” She embarrassed him without a hint of reluctance or guilt.
“I can sense the venom. I always have. I never wanted to choose someone on looks alone. So, I approached my parents with an unusual request.”
“And that is?” she asked without the usual liveliness or mischief, as he seemingly dragged her back into the melancholy world that she escaped from, couple of weeks ago.
“I wanted to talk to someone and get to know her before I see her photo. At least, that way I wouldn’t be overly influenced by looks alone and be able to respect her personality at the same time.”
Her eyes widened for a moment, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I started liking a girl, and I was pleased with my own decision. Now I believe I wasn’t entirely being honest in the image I portrayed”, he continued.
“She chose to reject you?”
“She chose to run away from me and her family as well.” he winked, to hide the disappointment of such an outright rejection.
“It hurt you that you were being judged unfairly, although you have been judging her all the time?” The smile was back in a small way.
“It hurt a bit, but now I know better.”
“Which is?”
“The futility of finding someone who is impressed by the wrong ‘me’”
“Oh, I can see the aura behind your ears now”, she teased him, like she has been from the very first day.

Before getting on the bus, she gave him a note, requesting him to read it after she left. He gave her his copy of Fountainhead, declaring audaciously, that he has every line of the book thoroughly memorised already. As the bus set itself on the highway for a nightlong journey, she fondly traced her fingers over his handwriting, on the front page.
“I felt I have talked to you before, although that is how you feel every time something special comes along. I hope I don’t start looking for you in every person I talk to, but then at least, I see the benefits of just being myself.”

After riding that night for a couple of hours, he stopped at a roadside tea stall. It had started raining, but the chill in the air couldn’t affect his beaming face one bit as he re-read the note, for the fourteenth time: “Go home and call me at the same number. The girl who ran away, would like to reconsider this distinctly familiar stranger.” 


10 Jun 2011

mist and music

There is purity tucked in nooks and corners…
When you play the ‘tivra sa’ and there is that automatic chime with the sound...like heavens telling you that you have hit the right note.  There is nonchalance when it rains and all you see is water drops forming something of a mist...you ending up moist on the foot-board of the train not wet, not dry...something like love.

there must be God. has to be.

3 Jun 2011


and it rained.

on cracked asphalt.
on parched skin.

it rained all over the wretched heart.

it rained...

29 May 2011

random conversations: fallacies and failures

"You can be the world's strictest teacher."

"And that is because?"

"You take a lot of tests and no matter how someone was to perform you  fail the person".

The sad part is there is no one who is willing to undergo the test and whoever does finds out the sham that lies beneath the speciousness and runs for life.

A strict teacher hardly has pupils that stay. That like her to stay. That like her.

26 May 2011


If I am not writing feverishly it means that there is nothing much going on on the emotional front and too much going on around me.
There is too much noise, so much so that, I am still reeling under its effect when I finally go off to sleep.

I can’t even think, there is too much noise.  

Not bad noise, no chaos, just noise. Too much of the physical world that just cannot reach into me.
There is not enough inspiration or maybe I am not looking. 

Yes, my eyes are closed I am sitting and letting the world get to me. 

Too much noise.

If I am not writing I am reading.
There is so much content in what people write. It is commendable how people rise from talking about the ‘ I. YOU. US.’ Talk about the world at large, talk about things in particular, talk about morals and life values. Talk about the needs, norms and calls of the society.

How different are they from me? 

I am too lost. I am trying to imagine this to not be real that there is something else that I am meant to do there is something else that I am supposed to be passionate for, something else that I should care about. 

But no, I seem to be my only priority. 

Bah. Too much noise.

21 May 2011

random conversations: yes. honestly? yes.

Y: [sms] "dil haare pukare tujhe..."

X: [calls] (smiles) main abhi yahi gaana sun rahi thi...

Y:(smiles) i love you..

X: i shouldn't be talking to you, hai na?

Y: honestly, yes.

X: should i put the phone down?

Y: yes.


14 May 2011

May's malady?

I can write a love song, a love sonnet.
I can show to you exactly how pretty the things will look when the couple walks hand in hand under pouring skies.
I can write a love poem that will make you blush.
I can do so much more but I cannot promise you that I will make a promise. 

You know why? 

…usne apni deewangi baanti nahin…maine apni fakeeron me luta di…

29 Apr 2011


Wind blowing on my face, a song on my lips and hundreds and thousands of faces.

I stand at the edge of the gate, in that train that I take every day.  
I am nothing for those 18 odd minutes, I leave one half of the day behind to come back and live another half. It is my break. I don’t have to be anything; I don’t have to wear a mask. Amongst those hundreds and thousands of unknown faces, most which I might never see again, I lose my sense of being and at the same time am closest to me.
Half listening to the track playing on the background cutting out the chaos outside of me and inside me,I sense silence, blissful serene silence.
I am calm. 

For those 18 odd minutes I am zero.  
For those 18 odd minutes I am ALL.

25 Apr 2011

too many books, am reading you my favourite line...

 Older chests reveal themselves
Like a crack in a wall
Starting small, and grow in time
And we all seem to need the help
Of someone else
To mend that shelf
of too many books
Read me your favourite line

Papa went to other lands

And he found someone who understands
The ticking, and the western man's need to cry
He came back the other day, yeah you know
Some things in life may change
And some things
They stay the same

Like time, there's always time

On my mind
So pass me by, I'll be fine
Just give me time

Something on a positive note:


23 Apr 2011

random conversation: something beautiful.

"at the station, train in 5 minutes"

"happy journey! tell me when you see something beautiful"

"tune FB par se profile hata dia nahin to abhi bata deta...tu ruk ab."

"abhi wapas aati hun...."

"nahin rehne de...tab sirf main nahin, sab dekhenge"



What have I invested in? 

I have “friends” some who refuse to recognize me now, some who are too far, some who were too near and suffocated to a final demise…resurrecting as strangers.
There are fleeting instances of meeting people that still happens but with the years that have passed and the people that I have “met”, “known” ,surreal instances that I have shared, everything dropping down to a state of nothingness; I am almost saturated, leading now to point zero.
For now I know, KNOW, that nothing stays.
Strangers that turn into friends turn back to being strangers.
Family that turns into being friends turns back to being family again. 

A naive 23 year old couldn't but now i understand this other “friend’s” need to walk away into a self imposed, abysmal quiescence.  

But what do I have to walk away from?

22 Apr 2011

auva auva.

random lyrics from the song:

*sweep sweep sweep...sweep sweep sweep  *
*auva auva tumse hai tumse pyaar
auva auva tumse hai tumse pyaaa..aaa..aaa..aaa..aaar.*

LOVE the song! =D

random smiles =)

well, i did try captioning them. 
but i guess. i said almost all i had to when i set  the title.


and btw is it vanity if i spend a lot of time reading my own posts over and over?