Sunday, November 29, 2015


Hope is when you are three and set a balloon free, thinking it will reach the moon.
Hope is tooth fairy, hope is Santa Claus' gift and hope is a birthday-candle-wish. 
Hope is when you are sixteen and stand by the traffic signal and shout your prices hoarse for people to buy your colouring books.
Hope is, waiting outside the intensive care unit for the doctor to bring relief.
Hope is when you are eighteen and still look at the door expectantly for your dad to return from the war-front.
Hope is, believing that your team will make it to the winners’ table in the dying minutes of a game.
Hope is anxiously looking at your phone as the clock strikes twelve, for that one long-distance call on your birthday.
Hope is getting into a moving train with bags bigger than you for sale, only to make ends meet.
Hope is when you are marooned on an island and spot a waving hand out-of-the blue.
Hope is when you are seventy two and stand on the pavement selling incense sticks on a bright and sweltering Sunday afternoon - undeterred, undaunted.
Hope is waiting for the weekend so you get to see your grandchildren and buy them ice-creams to soothe their screeches.
Hope is thinking about that long lost loved one each night before you go to bed, imagining how things could change even now, every striking minute of your life.

Hope is trying to put everything together when everything is crumbling into shreds of disappointment. Hope is painful. Hope is wonderful. Hope is the bird that sings when the dawn is still awfully dark and eerily scary. 

Hope is a perspective. 
Hope is the one thing that will ever be.  

Thursday, November 12, 2015

Broken Bane.

Shattered - smaller fragments, bigger chunks
Image Courtesy: Mozaico Art 
Every time she tried to fix, it broke more
She felt weak and suppressed, mistrusted and doubted

She looked for the crumbled pieces scattered along the shores of life
It went in vain as the pieces buried themselves unwillingly in shame, guilt, regret and fear
She walked for long along the path to find love,
Tried to get herself back together
Looked for the broken pieces so she could fix
The distance between herself and her soul

But it was too late and her soul left her,
Making her feel unloved and unwanted,
With a single rose next to her body on the bed

Sunday, September 20, 2015

A one-night stand.

She let out a loud scream, her ecstasy overpowering her ability to moderate her loudness. She felt the juices of her insides flowing through the sides of her thighs, onto her shins and almost dripping down to the floor as she leaned on the hard wooden table. The warmth filled her body with intense heat, she could feel the beads of sweat forming on her forehead and upper lip. She bit her lip as she wanted more - this warmth was what she had been waiting for all these days. 

A pair of hands ran across her stomach, kissed her stomach and slowly clutched her bare love handles and gently pushed her on to the bed. Her legs parted immediately and gave way for the hands to work again on her now twitching insides. She swooned to the momentum of the fingers, as it ran across it slowly, even slower and suddenly faster than she ever could imagine, making her wet the bedsheets and his hands with her bodily fluids. She felt a trickle, this time across her cheeks. She smiled as she noticed how her body could discharge different juices simultaneously albeit from different areas of the body. Letting out a sigh of relief and breathing out her guilt, she came all over him, screaming louder than before. 

Tired, as she lay on the bed, she pulled him closer for a wild French kiss, sloppy and steamy all the same while he continued to caress her curvaceous assets, pinching, squeezing and taunting them, until she let him go. She then kissed him on the neck hard enough, presenting him with a love bite as she thought of her lesbian girlfriend - she was now a cheating bisexual partner. 

Saturday, September 12, 2015

Love in a para.

Love makes you vulnerable, it makes you one-sided, it makes you judgemental, it softens your otherwise insensitive heart, it puts you down, helps you grow, gives you butterflies and kills them all. It makes you empty from within, clears you up, shakes the hell out of you, acts as a reality-check truck, tears you up and fixes you for the best. It prepares you for what lies ahead - teaches you how to handle mistakes and sometimes how to live with them. It blows your mind, sweeps you off-balance, saddens you and gives you joy out of the blue.
Love becomes your most beautiful fairytale dream and your most dreaded nightmare. It scares you out of your wits and makes you stronger.
At the end of it, you fall, you learn, you dream, you yearn, you fear, you envy, you know you've missed your chances. You pick yourself up but you keep going. It teaches you not one, but many lessons, of which falling in love all over again stands out to be the best you'll ever learn.

Sunday, August 16, 2015

How I touched her

Imagining courage to be a new-found weapon, I brandished it out, wielded it to my lone opponent, who was right in front of my eyes. I took her in my hands, unclothed her fully, lay her on the finely carpentered mahogany pulpit - her spine cracking against the furniture, her body opening itself up to my hand movements. She let out some simple monosyllables and then groaned out unfathomable words, much to my chagrin.

I was trying to read her - I was curious to find the meanings of these words. I ran my fingers over the insides of her body - it was smooth and beautiful, her skin untouched for a long while - fair, pure and perfect - she excited me. I was as hungry as a gazelle starved for more than a fortnight. My hands ardently working on her, I devoured her, fully in her entirety - awed by her efficiency and undeterred ability to deliver. I stroked her, positioned her just right, enough to see her clearly - to decipher those words and to hear them more. After a long while, my contentment reached inexplicable levels as I let out a sigh of extreme euphoria. 

I was satisfied beyond need and belief. Those enduring and blissful minutes with her satiated my never-ending hunger for words, for she, was a fat, stout dictionary with a hard spine and I, a poor soul trying to quench my thirst to learn. 


His eyes pierced me enough to send my blood chilling across my guts. I felt a huge lump of familiar nothingness sink through my throat and my heart lurched into fits of fast beats. I could not feel the nerves in my spine, for they were twisted - did a chill run along my spine as well? I wouldn't know. I could not get up, I was seated stiff - my sorrow and fear weighing me down, quite literally. I was scarred for life.

He had raped every inch of honour off my body. 

Friday, July 17, 2015

Who said?

Since when did 'there's nothing to talk' become a habit? What happened to all those nights you spent talking until 3 am? 

Who said being in love was the most 'sorted' thing that one can ever have in life? Who said it is easy to live with someone who can bring out fits of anger when you just expect love and nothing else? Who said you can talk about anything and everything under the roof with your loved one? Who said every day is new? Who said your love will fulfil your wish of being the best man/woman of your life? Who said you can live with a heart-break forever? 

Who said you can hold someone's hands and they will hold them back to comfort you? They won't. Who said you can look for a hug and you will get it? You will expect a hug and settle with a smile from them, making your heart sink. Who said a kiss can alter your mood? Who said your love will spend every waking minute of their life thinking about you or thinking of talking to you? Who said someone will understand you in the most toughest situations and be your pillar of strength?

Who said you need to stick on and not let go? Who said you will always have someone have your back when things go haywire? Who said someone will be proud of you no matter what you do? Who said someone will think of you as their prized possession? Who said love is eternal? Who said your life will change when you are in love? 

Who on earth ever said you are in love? Sometimes, you never know why you are in love with someone - you may not even be featuring in their world when they are your world

Saturday, June 20, 2015

For Someone

For someone who has seen me be lost 
For someone who knows how I am when in love,
For someone who has held my hand,
For someone who has kissed me,
For someone who has shed a tear for me from those pair of beautiful brown eyes
For someone who has given me endless moments of happiness and awe
For someone who never ceases to surprise me everyday, in dreams and in fantasy

I owe you much more than what you have given me
I owe you my life, even that would be less 

Forever, from today, till life's realities do us apart 

Thursday, May 21, 2015

The House and its members

Author's note: However much I write, there is this one man whom I can never stop writing about. He figured in my life until it was time for me to make decisions about my life. Or maybe, he stayed too long, who knows?

He was an ever-angry man, a strict disciplinarian, a stickler for cleanliness, managed time perfectly and was the Hitler of The House. The House feared him, they thought too hard before making a statement that could receive ‘flak’ from him and dreaded quite evidently, the banging of the large mahogany wooden door. The House featured two obedient sons with families apart from the man himself and his wife. The elder son had a wife and a daughter, while the younger one had a son with his wife. All in all, The House housed a joint family of eight. The younger son soon moved out owing to business commitments to a different house in the city. 

The man’s anger fits never stopped, his routine continued and the Nazi-like regime seemed to daunt The House, almost every day. The man’s wife, his older son, his wife and daughter were the ones who occupied The House. No, the man was not a torturer, his defence training and authoritarian behaviour sent people nervously skiing a million meters away until they could secure themselves a safe place, in or outside of The House. What The House did not realize was that, amid all the chaos, the man, found solace in opening himself up to the little Princess, who was the daughter of his older son. 

The little Princess rested happily on his knees, she wrote letters on his back, earned little shillings every time she felt like a chocolate or ice cream, and was silently taken out to buy the attire she preferred for her birthday and on holidays, was given the liberty to play the game of Trade and cards with the man, sitting erect across each other on the table, with the air-conditioner humming away in full blast. They shared moments, time, space and laughter despite the difference of sixty five years between them. 

She was growing up, he was opening up. He told her stories of the scary jungles in the remotest villages of India to the availability of the rarest weed and drugs. He thrilled her by recalling his life encounters with the Ouija board and made sure she spoke the right English and framed the right sentence while in a conversation. She made mistakes, but she learnt. She hugged him when she slept; she watched TV with him and pointed out to a cycle ad. The next day, she had a green Ladybird standing gracefully in the garage of The House. Years later, with the same zeal, he bought her a beautiful silver bracelet watch. She proudly exhibited her watch to the world – little did she know that the watch was an indicator that the time between them was running out.    
End note: The last time my grandfather and I interacted was hours before his death when I made him sip on some coffee because he was feeling unwell. 

Thursday, March 26, 2015

India, it's time to rise and shine!

The Australian test series saw Virat scoring four hundreds, Rahane getting to his century, leading many to believe India will do better, but they only got worse. Exactly one and a half months and a series ago, India showed itself as just another team in the Carlton mid tri-series, playing against Australia and England, where they lost every other match they played against these two teams. Indians were a shoddy bowling unit, projected a frail top-order, a less than mediocre middle order, and ended up as a disappointed team with no hopes of a turn-around anytime soon. 

It all happened right here, on the Australian pitches, when the assemblies of blue in the stands were forced to let out noisy grunts, of anger and disenchantment. They did not expect this from the 2011 World Cup champions and definitely this was not the cricket they had seen India play. M S Dhoni was let down by his team and so were the millions of fans trying to cheer the flailing performers. 

But why did this happen? And how did this happen. There is a very simple and easy analogy to it. The players were on the Australian pitches way too long, away from their homes. They performed well in the Border-Gavaskar Trophy, but failed miserably when it came to the ODI format where they struggled to get themselves out there. They were fatigued and out of good rest, little home support and had the big World Cup on its way.
There were paragraphs of criticism from the pundits and angry cricket fanatics; there were heart-breaking memes over the internet, thrashing the team for their inability to ‘deliver’, quite literally. News websites became unabashedly reproachful and the conventional next-door-uncle glanced at the sports section in the newspaper, eating popcorn in a moving train, casually exclaiming that the team was never going to get anywhere. He was wrong. 

The Men in Blue have easily erased the bad memories, by not just defeating every other team in the group stages and the quarter finals, but by ‘bowling ‘em all out’! What went right with the team is what nobody is talking about. The fact that the bowlers have stepped up their game is quite evident. But the batsmen have done their bit, so have the fielders and our very own ‘captain cool’, M S Dhoni who has been the core of this victory albeit the individual performances have turned heads. India has pushed itself to face the winner of five World Cups, Australia in the semi-finals and is a class-apart.

Suddenly everyone has forgotten the days of seething anger and searing pain these players went through, the bashing media thrusting their pens in the players’ noses and cameras flashing at their faces, as if to pronounce the committing of a crime. Everyone is bathing themselves and the team in the glory of the ‘70 wicket in 7 games’ scenario, with seven straight wins and seventy wickets to their credit. 

Right now, all that matters is India finishing this game against Australia in the best possible manner. I saw tense faces all around when I walked to work, most of them in blue and some sitting by the side-walks, patiently listening to the commentary on their phones and transistors. This part of India has not changed. It never will and it never can.
I should mention the anticipation of the billions looking for a path-breaking record of ’90 wickets in 9 games’ and of course, to retain the Cup. 

But to get there, we need to bid farewell to the Australians, boys.  

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Everything amiss!

It was scorching heat and the bumpy auto ride back home did not seem to end. There were sweat beads on her forehead and cuss words all around her. There was a commotion and a traffic jam. She turned around to see a row of cars behind her loudly honking like a mistuned trombone. 

She sighed 'not again! Mumbai is so crazy'!

She missed home - the everyday sights, sounds and the cacophony of prices being shouted in the familiar language. A language she could fathom and use double-entendres, where she could swear and feel the effect of the word on the opponent. She missed her dad's mash up of songs that he ended up singing every morning before leaving to office and her mom's effort to stop him from changing the tune of each song. She missed her mom's cooking and her kind words of affection and anger, both unending and unforgettable. She missed her grandmother's ways of interrogation whenever she said bye to her each morning. She missed the late night phone conversations with cousins and the Sunday sessions of omelette and tea-making with her dad. She missed how she showed her newbies from shopping to her grandfather's photo, silently and secretively when no one was watching. She missed her temple visits and the usual suspects who greeted her, and the uncles and aunties who she greeted. She missed walking on those tree-lined lanes and her Gulmohar tree which she and her grandfather planted in 1997. The flame of the forest was gone and so was he.
Reality hits her as a heavy vehicle this time, as a biker rams his front wheel against the auto's rear ensuing another commotion. The auto driver gets out and slaps the biker. The loud honking returns and the city presents itself to her as the unapologetically vociferous, uncaring and ruthless, Mumbai. Only this time, she gets out of the auto and decides to endure the menacing heat by walking on the dusty lanes sipping water from her red bottle. 

The memories and pangs of sorrow will always remain, nestled snugly between the everyday realities of life and the continuous effort to try and live.  

Monday, March 16, 2015

Perks and pangs of being a lonesome pine

My parents never pushed me to do anything. They never 'expected' me to score in subjects, they never wanted me to be the 'class-topper' and more importantly, they never wanted me to become what THEY wanted to become. They never thrust their ideas or opinions on to me, never even wanted me to 'compete' with other kids of my generation. 

Some people might say I was pampered and given a lot of attention. Some might say I was brought up with a lack of focus or dedication. I would like to believe that I, on the other hand, had the privilege to develop the most individualistic and opinionated mind ever. I was not born into a family of aristocrats or ancestral-affluence. Although part of my folks might brag about this 'ancestral-affluence-that-didst-us-great-good-and-respect-in-society-nonsense', I do not like to get to the nitty-gritties of it, unless I know someone who knows about what I am talking out here. 

Anyway, let me tell you the pangs and perks of being an only-child. 

The perks.

A desperate, attention-seeking, pampered, eternally fancied, never-sharing, sibling-less existence, filled with happiness is what many people might have imagined my life to be. Contrary to popular belief, I was brought up with a lot of love, I do not know what fights mean, I do not like to hold grudges and I forget an adult- fight two minutes after it gets over, which, by the way is advantageous, because, I never come across as egoistic. Also, I can never be. I have never cloned a sister or a brother, never looked at anyone as a role model, nor have I been through the stage of 'comparison', that usually ends up marring a relationship. And no, I was never compared to my cousins who were much better than me academically and otherwise. 

Nobody taught me to write, nobody expected me to express my feelings and nobody ever told me I would earn an extra twenty grand, had I become an engineer. That just goes to show my upbringing and my parents' mindsets. Open and happy. Free-flowing and funny. Loving and capricious. I love them. My dad is an engineer and my mom, an entrepreneur. A simple, small family with substantial standards of living and an outlook far greater than any opulent man's Swiss Bank account. They let me do what I want. They let me study what I wanted and they let me explore my strengths and weaknesses. They were proud of me although I never accomplished anything and egged me on when even I did not know I needed it.    

But what others still do not know is that, even as I have not taken care of a sibling, I have always learnt to take care of myself. I am independent and strong. I make mistakes and learn from them. I do not need the advise of an elder sibling on how I have fared in my math paper, I am not accountable to anyone, except myself. I get hurt when someone makes a rude remark. I cry, not for attention, but because I get hurt thinking how someone can use their sharp tongue to slay words at a person, arbitrarily. I also, do not have to share clothes or shoes, or even a room, I have my privacy. I completely agree to what you are thinking. 

There are pangs. 

And a lot at that. I have never enjoyed the company of someone, elder or younger, whenever I have been alone. I had the company of my wonderful grandfather and after he was gone, the company of books and nothing else. I do not know how to answer back. I do not know how to contain my emotions and I also do not hurt someone, physically or emotionally. I feel weird when someone fights and I don't know how to react when someone argues, because I am just not used to it. I do not cheat in a game and it is okay even if I lose a game, because come on, it is just a friggin' game and it really doesn't matter if you compare me with someone. I just don't care, because it doesn't affect me. I don't enter a house and say 'the remote is mine' or 'I am using the bathroom first' or 'DIBBS on that! I need it', because it doesn't matter again. These things are so petty, it sometimes breaks relationships. It doesn't lead you anywhere. And anyway, what if you wait for two more minutes for your buddy to get out of the loo?

I may come across as a pampered brat, but the feeling of emptiness I get when someone raises an eyebrow and says 'wow, so your parents are doting, aren't they?', is so inexplicable, it brings tears. At least, my parents shower love. They do not have a choice to be biased. I am happy.

I feel like slapping that person's face with a brick and never want to see that person again. I want to burst out and say how I feel about it, but obviously, 'the morons', will NEVER get it. This emptiness and the feeling of being ALONE, the reality that every day when you go to bed you do not have a sibling who will appreciate or criticize you for what you have done. And the feeling of sharing the best 'holiday-trip-secret-memories' or 'the little secrets' with someone of the same blood, or the fondest memories of 'being happy as little kids' will never exist for me. The rest of the world will not get it. They just won't.  

But the next time you begin your condescensions, ask yourself how far it might go to affect the life of the lonesome pine in question. 

No? Nevermind, you will never get it.  

The 'deal-breaker'!

While there are hundreds of people who are happy with their salary, there are always those handful of people who crib, no matter how much they earn. Sometimes, some months get pretty tight, so I tend to fall into the latter category. I have some strong rules that I follow and break, and follow and then break, all over again, every three months. 

My first rule, is 'say NO to online-shopping', but I picked up my Moto G Second Gen. off Flipkart, just a week after I made that resolution/ rule/ principle, whatever you may want to call it. Then, I made the rule again. And broke it again, when I found myself looking for a 'trendy phone cover'. Well, 'I bought my PHONE online, this is just a cover', I said to myself. Then my rule lifted its hat and presented itself to me neatly, so I averted those thoughts. No phone cover. 

A month after that was my best-friend's birthday. And isn't it scandalizing to not gift her anything? Especially when I am earning? And especially when I know that she has showered me with the best goodies from across the globe? So this time again I look into the 'online shopping site' and guess what, I gift her an unnecessarily expensive watch. 

At the very root of it, I think it is the 'ping' that you get in your mobile when you know your salary is credited. All said and done, it is an amazing feeling, but that feeling is what makes you spend, right at the click of a button, sitting at your desk, using free-office-WiFi or your 'work time'. Then, you promise myself that you will NEVER do an online transaction again, be it shopping, charity, paying taxes, anything! 

It has been six months and I feel exceedingly excited and proud to announce that I have contained myself and stood away from shopping online, because, thank my Divine Goodness, I forgot my online transaction password and my card is locked! I haven't tried to get it fixed ever since, not because I am lazy, but because I do not want to. It is a pact, that I have made with myself. A deal, which I, will never break. 

Until, I get another ping on my phone, saying 'SALE! 90% OFF ON NEW STOCK!'
The bloody 'deal-breaker'! 

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Of boyfriends and bridegrooms

Okay, so I began writing this after having seen a post on Facebook which said, 'too many weddings this weekend on my Facebook feed'. That set me thinking. Our Facebook feed has grown older with us. When I first created my account, all I could think of were my tenth standard board exams and so did the many others who were my 'friends' in the then 'most-safe' social-networking-site. Now, almost seven years later, it has become a platform where people are openly sharing their marriage and HONEYMOON pictures for the whole wide world to see. I, on the other hand would never want the world to see my marriage photos. If I wanted you to see how I looked in my wedding attire, I would probably invite you to the wedding itself.   

Anyway, coming to the point of this blog post, I wonder, if getting married is the be-all and end-all in life. I looked at these Facebook posts, engagement news, wedding pictures, reception stories, pre-wedding, post-wedding photo-shoots - boyfriend marries girlfriend, boyfriend dumps girlfriend to get married to an other girl, or a couple breaks up because the boy is too young to get married whereas the girl's family is insistent of marriage. 

There are conditions. The girl has to marry someone who is from the same caste, well educated and earn a handsome amount of money. So if a boy doesn't fulfil this pre-requisite then he cannot marry the girl he loves. The boy's family on the other hand, insists that the girl be virgin. Yes, so that no other man has seen or touched her. But the boy, oh man, a boy need not necessarily be virgin. Well, he is a man. That's why, they say. Idiocy, sheer idiocy, I say. 

But hey, that's normal in India. 

I ask why. Why the difference? If you have the audacity to ask me that, then I am going to probably get all tests done and even go to the extent of finding out if your private parts have rubbed against anyone during the last ten years of your existence on planet earth and throw it on your face to explain why I 'reject' you. 

If a boy fulfils all the pre-requisites but is not of the same caste, they will still not get you married. Why, because oh my God, what will the society say? How can I marry my beautiful Punjabi daughter to a Tamil Hindu boy? What will people think? What about my standing in public circles? No, nobody gives a damn about how the girl is going to feel, if she gets into an 'arranged marriage set-up', having to live with some random stranger for the rest of her life where it is going to probably take 5 years to get to know him. Well, I guess that's enough time to probably, you know, divorce him. 

But I know the bride's or the groom's family to be hypocrites too. If a girl or a boy brings home a foreigner (read, white skin) they READILY agree, while they probably wouldn't have, had it been an Indian from a different caste, probably more career-oriented and responsible instead of being a 'reckless backpacker'.  

You know why? The grody ideology also weighs on how the child is going to be born, a white-skinned grandson or granddaughter. Sure sounds like a pretty thing to own, right? Nobody considers that the girl or boy can also face impotency. Bro, deal with it. That's a possibility. 

Now comes to best part. I tell someone that a boy got married to his girlfriend, who is from a different caste, just to you know, see what they say. So the first question they ask is, 'is the boy rich or the girl rich'? If I say the girl's family is well-to-do, then the the reply goes to an exclamation 'oh, he so foxily managed to woo a rich girl so he can earn good dowry, wow.' I roll my eyes and heave a sigh of disgust. 

Let me change the story the next time I talk to someone.

This time guess what they say when I say the boy's family is well-to-do. They say, 'wow, women these days date men who have money, for that is what speaks. And then they get married to them. Shameless herd'. Excuse me, aren't you a woman yourself? Such men and women should be slaughtered. No, I am serious.  

When I say both families are well-to-do or both families are plain middle class, then they say 'birds of the same feather flock together'. The next question is, 'so the girl is a housewife, right?'. 

I am appalled at how puny someone's outlook on life can be. 

Is it wrong to fall in love? At least we as a generation do not want to get married to some random person and still keep thinking of the ones we were once in love with. What the HELL is wrong with India? If a person is not from the same 'community', isn't he or she human enough? or do you want someone who is Holier Than Thou? If the country doesn't progress, then the skewed mindsets of people are to be blamed. 

Go ahead, judge me for standing up and voicing my opinion.

That doesn't mean I forget gratitude. Thank you very much, for patiently reading through this though.