The end.

Endings don't come with
clear, dark border lines
where your colors
shouldn't overlap.

Endings don't come with the
ticking of a time-bomb
about to explode.

Endings just come.
Faceless. Soundless.
Sometimes, timeless.
And when they do,
you just know.

You know it
deep inside your heart
that there will be no more
last-things you do
or goodbyes or
farewell in any form.

Whoever said endings
are beautiful, is
simply fooling with poetry.
Because they are not.
Endings are painful.
They kill you.
They rip you apart.
They feed on your remains.

Endings are intangible.
You don't see them,
you don't hear them.
You just feel them.
The dead. The end.

I will not fall for you again

Don't look at me the way
your eyes had pierced mine
that rainy evening
under the pink lights.

Don't give me those
above-average tight smiles
like there are so many words
held back by the rigid
boundaries you created.

Don't talk to me in
cryptic phrases and one-liners
just for the sake of conversation.

Don't laugh out louder than required
just to make me hear the sound.

Don't hold your gaze
when our eyes meet.

You wanted to leave.
You wanted to stop,
You wanted to end.
I let you.

Then why would you half-quit?
As if, deep inside, you're at war with yourself.

If you want to go away, go away completely.
There's the door. Just leave.
Don't look at me. Don't talk to me.
Don't be near me.
Don't pretend that you don't know
what I am talking about.

Because I've been through hell
and I have no intentions of
dancing on burning coal again.

I will not return your long gazes,
or smile when you talk to me.
I will not walk over to
where you're standing.
I will not.
Never again.
I will not fall for you again.

I will not guess your thoughts
and second-guess my decisions.
I will not try to read between your words
and judge your actions
Because honestly, I don't have
that kind of energy for you anymore.

So, when I try to undo the mess,
here, stop redoing it.
Because you're hitting a rock.
I will not fall for you again.

It always comes back to this.

It always comes back to this.
The rain will stop pouring,
on this barren land.
The lightning will stop tearing
the skin of the sky.
The thunder will stop destructing
the silent cries of the crickets.
The wounds will stop bleeding.
The pain will stop killing.

And when it all stops,
it will come back to this -
this nothingness I carry,
this nothingness that I have
been carrying for years now,
this nothingness.
It always comes back to this.

A Town of Memories: I would never know

A Town of Memories: I would never know: I stood under the lamppost reading out a letter to you. My back was to you, so I did not know if my words reached you. I would never k...

I would never know

I stood under the lamppost
reading out a letter to you.
My back was to you,
so I did not know if
my words reached you.
I would never know.

I brushed the tip of my fingers
over the calluses on your palm.
You brushes off the tears
that rolled down my cheeks.
Whether you felt the connect
when my skin touched yours,
I don't know.
I would never know.

You pulled me close
and I hugged you as tight as I could.
You told me to be strong because
letting go is the right thing to do.
But letting you go was perhaps
the hardest thing I have ever done.
Whether you knew this or not,
I would never know.

You lit one cigarette after the other
and I felt my soul being burnt
and rising up hand-in-hand
with the smoke from your stub.
Last night has been the saddest,
coldest and loneliest of all
sleepless nights.
Whether you slept well or not,
I would never know.

There are so many stories I had to tell you,
so many scars I had to show you,
but you would never know.
It all came down like the
necrotic yellow leaf
that broke off from the tree
and landed quietly on
the cold, gray road.

Whether my necrosis is as quiet as the leaf
or the noisy drum-roll inside my head,
I don't know.
But my necrosis is the right thing at the moment.
Or so you said.
Whether you actually believe it or not,
I would never know.

Twenties

The 20s is the most confusing phase of your life.

Everything seems disoriented, chaotic and rushed. You live in the extremes - your nerves constantly on the edge. You either can't sleep because you're so heartbroken or you sleep all day because you're so severely hungover.

There are times that take you high up on the clouds - dancing-in-air, so happy, and then there are times that pull you right down to the bedrocks and you think you'll never recover.

There are days you plan for the weekend or this is where we'll go next month or we're going to do this next year - your mind so active in those long-term plans that you have already decided what to wear on that vacation. There are also days when you want to bury yourself under the blanket, shut down the world and just wish you were dead.

There are times you are so angry that you can feel the world charring at your touch and the walls retreating to escape the wrath of your fury. There are times when you just take a deep breath and let it all go.

Some days you have so much love to give - the warmth and fuzz and liveliness being too much to wrap around the world; and some days you think you would catch a cold from the ice inside your soul.

Some nights you can't sleep because you think there are monsters under your bed; some nights you can't sleep because these monsters are poking from under your skin; and some nights, you give a damn.

There is a question mark in every breath. Clarity is an alien term.

All our lives we're finding things - a misplaced key, a lonely sock, pen caps, safety pins, phone numbers, Skype IDs.. but in our hearts, we're all ever only looking for answers.
Answers to questions that jab you and nab you and prick you and nibble you. In the end, you just want to feel okay. You just want to live one more day. You just want to sit at your window with a cup of coffee. You want to stare at the rain and feel the caffeine spread through your veins before the questions hit your brain.

Every spoken word, every action, every reaction will have an impact, will have a consequence. If I do this now, that will happen later. And we don't do it now because we think we're not ready for the consequence. But have we ever been ready for the consequences all along? Have we ever been able to predict yesterday that this is how today is going to be? No - things have happened to us and we have dealt with them, good or bad, right or wrong, and we're alive. Still going.

I'm 22 and I spend half my life thinking how things will be at 25 or 37 or 50.
I'm sure you do that too.
Let's all stop.

Stop wasting our time thinking about things we cannot control.
Stop being beaten by our pasts.
Stop carrying the baggage.
Stop pretending.
Stop procrastinating.
Just stop.

It's okay.
It's okay if you eat a double cheese burst pizza.
It's okay if your abs are not showing.
It's okay if you have failed a subject or two.
It's okay if your hair is frizzy.
It's okay if you date someone with no intention of marrying them.
It's okay if you want to dye your hair a weird shade of blue.
It's okay if your periods are late.
It's okay if you have exhausted all your money in a pub.
It's okay if you have thrown up after just a peg.
It's okay if you have broken someone's heart.
It's okay if you part.
It's okay.
It's all okay.
Trust me.

It's okay because you are doing it while you still can.
Don't worry if it is right or wrong, if he'll stay or leave, if this is how things should be, if this is how you ought to be -
don't think.

Because now is the only time when you can do things without thinking them through.
Even if you're marking mistakes, don't hesitate to make another. This is the only time to make mistakes. Collect your scars and wear your wounds. Bear the pain, but go for it again.
The only thing you shouldn't have later is regret - regret that you wished, you could have, you should have. Do it while you can.

And even though your 20s is the most confusing phase, it is also the most happening, most unpredictable and most adventurous phase of your Life.
Live it while you still can.

A Town of Memories: Meet only to part

A Town of Memories: Meet only to part: Imagine a universe where the full moon never called out to the tides; or where the gentle breeze didn't kiss your skin on long ne...

Meet only to part

Imagine a universe
where the full moon
never called out
to the tides;
or where the gentle breeze
didn't kiss your skin
on long neon rides.

Imagine a universe
where the waves never embraced
the sand on the shore;
or no flying embers
of a cozy bonfire
as you listen to ancient folklore.

Imagine a universe
where the clouds never
sent down rain;
or the comfort of
a wound healing
after scars, scabs and pain.

Imagine a universe
where the trees never shed
themselves in autumn;
or no beautiful rainbows
created out of the fusing
rain and summer sun.

Imagine a universe
where the moon never
awakened in drowsy daylight;
or where you didn't
have to hold on to the string
to fly your kite.

Imagine a universe
where the graphite of your pencil
never touched the paper;
or the brief connect of
two mountain ranges
where the sides taper.

So many things
in this world
meet only to part,
and there is beauty
in the separation -
in the chaos, there is art.

We only have what we have -
why get into the nitty-gritties;
you and I are atomically relevant
in such bigger infinities.

Coming undone - again

What we have

what we want

what we can have

and what we wish to have

are four continents separated

by endless oceans of

murky decisions,

ruthless situations,

foggy vision

and repeated fission.

Whether you listen to

the heart or the head,

you can feel the beats ebbing,

the texts unread,

so many stories unsaid,

and you return every night

to restless sleep on a cold bed.

The cracks peep again

only the light that was awaited

never found its way in.

The cold rain fills the gap,

the chill hitting you crisp like a slap.

The conscience blames, the guilt melts

but pain, my friend, demands to be felt.

I stand at the bend of the road

getting drenched in the showers 

I let on upon myself.

I pull the sleeves right up to the fingertips

stare at the shore and the disappearing ships

I pull myself closer and breathe into my fists

and welcome the downpour, the chill and the mist.

I'll be okay but at the moment

it's all a little insane because

I am coming undone - again.

 

When people tell you to "Move On"

There are two words
that are heard more than courtesy calls;
words that are meant to deep
but rarely do they seep
beyond the skin
because they're hollow,
they're shallow
and no amount of intensity
can make you act upon it.

How can you act upon it
when every little thing,
sight or sound
takes you all the way round -
back to where it started,
back to where you parted.
How can you?

You get used to the pain,
the emptiness inside,
the rawness that pricks
every now and then
reminding you
yet again..
of everything you so wish to forget.

Pints of forgetfulness don't help,
they only give you a lasting ache
throbbing at the back of your mind,
in the center of your chest
of the mess inside your head -
all that is waste.

Then one day, someone walks in
through the doors
and you see light
after too many dark nights.
It could be the sunshine
you were craving all this while,
or it could only be a flashlight
breathing until the batteries run out.

People will keep asking you to move on
even after you have moved on.
They will point out your flaws,
voice your insecurities
and shove you down.
They will shake you and break you.
But if you listen to me,
Take the chance, call out to the light-man.

Can you teach me to unlove?

Everywhere I look -
I see the grey clouds romancing the horizon;
paper boats sailing happily in puddles;
a young couple holding hands;
a lipstick-stained rim of a half-empty coffee mug;
dew-covered pink flowers smothered with mud;
everywhere I look the planet is spelling love
and I think of him.

Everything I hear -
the crickets calling out at night;
the thunder guarding the sky;
a similar honk of his bike;
the sound of rain kissing the soil;
everything I hear is reminding me of so many - yesterdays
and I think of him.

There are poets preaching love;
artists spreading love through
the strings of the guitar
or the strokes of their brushes
or the jingle of the ghungroo-s..
there are how-to books on love!

But, I'm running away
from the memories,
from the yesterdays,
from him.
I don't want to love him,
can you teach me to unlove?

Blind date with my job!

Butterscotch walls
and a hundred desktops,
Formally dressed in
Painfully high heels,  no flip flops.

I walk in with my heart in my mouth
All self consolations rapidly heading south.
Self doubts grow and choke me like climbers
The fire in me dying down to embers.

I take a seat
Trying to hide my trembling feet
Waiting for whosoever is to come
Ticktacking on my phone and chewing gum.

He arrives at last
With an unpleasant blast
He hasn't even started
And the inner me has already retreated.

I want to run away before
The onset of the rain
But for a little monetary gain,
I will subject myself to this mental pain.

But maybe if I ran away now
I would never learn how
This works,
Maybe I would like it
Maybe I wouldn't,
But how much time is
Enough time?
I hope I understand
Before I burn down to sand.

I know that I will see you - again.

It happens too rarely

in Life that we are sure

of certain things.
Neither reason works 

nor logic,

there is no paradigm;

but the complex workings

of the heart have rarely

followed a pattern.

I am uncertain of my tomorrows;

an identity crisis haunting me;

there aren't many things that

I am sure about - except this one.

Don't ask me why or how

For I don't know that now..

But out of all my unknowns,

I know that I will see you - again.

Someday, somewhere -

and I know I would still care.

It could be tomorrow when the sky is uneven

or it could be years until we are sixty-seven.

It could be your favorite blue tee under the pines

or it could be your cane with laughter lines.

It could be a coffee shop

or a mall or the airport;

or it could be the same place 

where I had seen you last - 

across the road.

But I hope I see you later,

much later -

when were both stronger,

smarter and better;

because if I see you now,

I might fall for you again

and you will wash over me 

like the gentle rain.

Don't ask me why or how

For I don't know that now..

But out of all my unknowns,

I know that I will see you - again.

Patch me Up

The diffused sunlight spills
onto my palms as if saying
their final goodbyes,
it will be a long time
before this sunshine
touches my skin again.

I had come in
with a heavy heart
because I had to leave
home to be here;
I leave tomorrow
with a heavier heart
because I am
leaving home - again.

I leave with the intention
of coming back,
with holes in my soul
and I know you will
patch me up.
You will heal me
and one day,
I will become
this diffused sunlight
spilling on somebody's palms.

Hole in your Soul

It's weird to bid farewell
for you can never tell
if this would be the last time
that you see them with the
fire in their eyes,
that you hear them laugh,
that you share a coffee or a joke
or that you hold them close.

It's weird because
you think you are ready
for the parting;
but you are never really
ready for the impact.
You leave behind so many people,
so many places, and
so many pieces of you -
each one burning a hole
in your very soul.

And when you are really far
and when you look within
your soul will look like a nebula -
the holes lighting up from within
like stars in the night sky.
Because even when you part
they stay - stay in these lit-up holes.

Their light will remind you of
the laughter lines,
and bygone times.
You will be incomplete
and yet, sublime.

Uncertain lights.

How do you know
which way to go
when all roads
are covered in snow?
The air is foggy
and the light is scattered;
who knows what they shine upon.

Every decision demands
a review, calls for a cross-check
The signs change, the years wear
and nobody cares.

The only rope I hang
on to, is the hope
that one day everything will sort out
and things will be okay;
where the larks of the dark
give way to the light of a new day.

Looking for answers

These questions that call out to you
in the dark hours of nights,
where are their answers hidden?

These roads that have no signposts
where are they headed?

These pages that are yellowing with time
what happens after they decay?

These beams of moonlight that are streaming in
through the gap in the clouds,
what are they enlightening?

These questions that never cease,
these doubts that burn holes in my mind,
can you help me find these answers?

At the cross road.

Standing at the cross-road,
and looking up at the crescent moon
between the lines of electric wires,
I realized how much in sync
the world around me moves with
the world inside of me.

I stand between so many barbed wires
unable to decide which bleeds me,
which binds me, and which sets me free.
The noise of the rushing traffic
from all directions,
waiting for the lights to go green
is so similar to the thoughts
in the mind - waiting, pausing,
and then zooming past so fast
it's all a blur.

Standing at the cross road today,
I realized how the scared, shy girl
has learnt to cross the road
at the ever-so-busy junction.
Someday soon, I will learn to beat the
traffic inside my head too.

The Small Town Girl

But I have always been the
walk-under-the-neon-lights-on-a-breezy-silent-night;

I can never be the
dancing-away-intoxicated-in-the-mad-crowd-at-the-pub.

I have always been
breathe-the-sight kind of girl;

I will never get used to
run-or-the-car-will-hit-you girl.

I have always been dodging controversies,
and I thought Life was so hard;
but I have realized that it's easier than
dodging the 8am traffic on a 10-lane road.

I will and I wish to stay the
small town girl that I have always been.
I will never be the
high heeled metro chic.

I don't want to lose myself in the rush;
Because I have always wanted to find myself between breaths.

HER Story

It was sometime between that sultriness of July and the cool of August.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Tall, fair and handsome. Busy solving some mind-boggling calculus problem, as usual. A small fringe formed in between those thick brows and a pair of clever, bespectacled eyes focused on the spot where the tip of his pen touched the plane of the paper. His fingers were anxiously tapping the desk as he looked for the correct formula.  She wished he would look at her. At least just once. But only at her.
He was a heartthrob (and a heart-breaker). Everybody seemed to like him. But she loved him.
She knew she didn't stand a chance, but who knew... maybe this really was HER STORY?!

So she, intentionally, dropped her keys at his feet. "Oops!” she said, making it look accidental! He quickly bent down and picked the keys. He looked at her, only at her, smiled and stretched his arm towards her... the keys on the palm of his hand. She stretched her fingers nervously, not breaking the eye-lock for one second. Everything felt like in slow-motion. And then, Magic happened. As her fingers touched the metal of her keys, she could feel his fingers closing on hers... and then, everything stopped - the nerve impulse reaching her brain, the blood pumping out of her heart, the pulse at her wrist. Everything, except time.

"Good Morning, students! Please take your seats quickly", the teacher bellowed, her booming voice breaking the Magic of the moment.

That’s where HER STORY began. This was one Magic, there were thousands more to come.
She did not know it then, but life felt happier and prettier, since that moment.

She would follow him to the football ground every morning and watch him play. He would make chits and throw at her during tests. She would purposely talk loudly to her friends so that he would hear what she was saying. He would always take her side every time the teacher scolded her for being talkative. She would steal glances at him every day. He would sometimes stare at her.
She loved him. He probably knew that.
He probably liked her. Somebody told her that she was his first crush.
Life felt like a fairy-tale.

It was raining, one day. Their classes had just got over.
Students filed themselves in queues to leave the school premises.
She stood in the corridor that overlooked the school lawn and watched the raindrops fall to the ground.
Suddenly she was pushed. She turned around to see what was happening and realized there was some commotion in the boys' queue. It soon settled down and he was standing right next to her.
She suppressed a glee.
He looked at her and smiled. This time, she smiled back.
They stood there smiling all by themselves until it was time to move ahead. The boy's line seemed to move faster. As soon as he moved, almost like a reflex, she turned towards the rain, stretched her hand out and gathered as many raindrops as she could and called out to him. He turned. Splash!
Surprised, he looked at her wide-eyed. And then he smiled. That same smile that made all the other students vanish from view. She grinned back. But within, she wondered if her playfulness was taken for silly or childish behavior. He was a mysterious boy. His face never really revealed anything.
Pushing the thought aside, she moved ahead with her line.

With time, their friendship grew. He was shy with girls, and sometimes rude. But he was always so nice to her, kind and polite and loving. He made her feel so special. She wondered if she really was his princess. She thought of Cinderella and her Prince Charming and built so many castles in the air, sometimes wondering if those castles really existed. She couldn't help smiling all day!

Two years and a little more had passed... nothing really happening beyond those stares and chit-chats. She still found Magic in them. He had become more serious about his studies now. She wasn't sure if he still believed in that Magic, or if he ever did. But her doubts never shook her faith.

They were in the Chemistry Laboratory, practicing before their final examinations. She chose her counter exactly behind him, so if he would turn, hers would be the first face he saw.
As the minutes dragged on, she forgot about him momentarily and concentrated on the boiling fluid in her test-tube. She had just placed the tube in its stand when she heard him.

"Hey, would you have conc. HCl at your counter, by any chance?"

She turned around to confirm if the question was directed at her. He stood there, hardly a foot away... his face beaming in the sunlight, the light on his spectacles making it difficult for her to see his eyes.

"Hello?” he said, bringing her out of her dreams.

"Y-yes, it’s on the top shelf, there", she said, elated like a star-struck kid.  She quickly turned her back to him and pretended to go back to work. Seconds later, she could feel him behind her... his hands stretched to the top shelf to fetch the bottle of acid. He was so close that she could feel his breath on her cheeks. She almost fainted with ecstasy but he came to her side now, so she regained her composure! She couldn't help staring at him as he poured the acid from her bottle to his... she was looking at him, as if memorising his features... the dark brows, the intense eyes, the perfect nose..
Her eyes suddenly left his face, as if on a hunch, to look down at the Bunsen flame. The hem of his lab coat was almost on fire, as he was shutting the lid of the acid bottle. She let out a silent scream and quickly put her hand below his and pushed it out of the flame. In the process, she had put her palm into the flame and now it was burning terribly. He saw the blackish red burn on her hand.

"Fool!" he exclaimed and took her hand under the running water from the nearest tap.
Time froze. She couldn't feel the pain of the burn anymore. She couldn't see the scar anymore. What she saw was Magic, again. He held her hand in his, and the running water seemed to seal their hands together. Breaking her fantasy again was a voice... this time his.
"Thanks!" he said. She turned just in time to see that smile that swept her off her feet.

Another two years had passed. 

They were in different streams, he had taken Mathematics, and she, Biology. Conversations had become limited. Very rare. No matter how restless she grew to hear his voice, she could never come up with a sensible excuse to call him up.

Her new house was beautiful, what added to the beauty was the fact that she could see his terrace from hers. That is exactly what she did on most evenings... stood on the terrace and watched his house at the distance, her eyes alert for any kind of movement they could register!

She would scribble his name on the pages of her notebooks and then hide them beautifully with intricate designs all around it.  She would dream of him, almost every night... most of those dreams ending in a romantic dance in a green room lit by yellow tiny lights and decorated with hanging mistletoe. She still had the happily-ever-after dreams about him.
She edited his photographs, cropped them, photo-shopped them, framed them in virtual hearts... did everything she could to make them look 'together'.

They were in the twelfth grade.
The pressure of studies, the burden of Board examinations, the confusion over career choices... everything was weighing them down simultaneously.
There was hardly any time to breathe and Magic had probably disappeared somewhere between those pages in the fat books, or in the hollows of lost pen-caps or in the dissolving sugar of the late-night coffee.

Or so they thought.

The bell rang for the lunch break. Little kids rushed out of their classrooms, running from everywhere to everywhere with their colorful tiffin boxes. She was in the Biology laboratory, dissecting a flower. She hadn't finished so she let the others leave and said she would join them shortly.
She patiently sat back on her chair and continued the dissection.
When she was satisfied with what she saw under the microscope, she was about to leave.
She stacked the three fat books, one on top of the other, and carefully worked her way out of the laboratory. The books were heavy and the stack was high enough to partially obstruct her vision ahead. The crazy children running about made it even more challenging for her to reach her classroom safely, which was on the upper floor.
She walked very carefully to the stairs, balancing the books and making sure not to bump into anyone. When she reached the flight of stairs, she was taking the left side to climb but a couple of young kids ran down at the same time, so she had to remain on the right. Hardly had she taken a step up, when she bumped into someone and the balance felt so fragile as if the books would just fall off her hand. She didn't even see who it was because her attention remained on The Leaning Tower of Books! It was only when two hands touched hers to stabilize the stack and make it upright again, that she looked up at HIM.
The crease of her brow disappeared into a shy smile playing on her lips.
This was a surprise. This was Magic.
His hands still hadn't left hers, and she wished they never would. But before she could finish her wish, he moved back. Concerned, he asked.. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, Thank You!"
"That's okay. Where are you coming from?"
"Laboratory."

She was happy he was talking so much. This was happening after a long long time.
"Laboratory? Now?"
"Yes…"
"Did you have your tiffin or were you stuck with that microscope all this time?"
She shrugged... (She was exploding with delight, inside!)
"There are only five minutes left for the interval to get over."
"Yes, I know. I was just going."
"Then go fast and have your tiffin first."
"Sure. Bye."
"And listen?" She would almost faint... he was stopping her?
"Don't study so much if you don't want to get spectacles soon!"
"Yeah, right!” she smiled.
"Bye!"
"Bye!"
And she walked to her classroom, beaming.
Magic!!!

Time had frozen enough, and now, it was practically flying.
It was their Farewell.
The girls had to be clad in saris and the boys, formal suits.
All she had on her mind was to look her best because this would be where her flight would land before she took off to newer skies. She felt special because she thought that this end here is the door to a new beginning somewhere else. Little did she know that a final Magic was awaiting her.
She reached the venue and looked around. She saw girls dolled up in red, blue, green, pink and black. "Thank God, no one wore white!" she murmured to herself, as she got down the auto-rickshaw. Her stone-studded sari dazzled in the bright sunshine. She felt so happy. She lifted the hem of her sari slightly and was about to enter the main entrance with her friends, when she heard the boys coming. She turned. Everybody looked so smart and mature in those black and navy-blue suits. Just then, her eyes caught something (rather, someone!). She found herself staring at the only gentleman who wore a white suit. It was the same shade of white that she was wearing.
The catcalls from her girlfriends made her realize that she was staring so hard that her eyes would pop out of their sockets. She was stunned by the co-incidence.
Out of all the ceremonies that followed, the one that stood out was the photo-session.
People were photographed in all was possible. Solo, dancing, funny face, serious face, background picture, groups, best friends, couples...
Since they had both worn white and people thought it was pre-planned, they were pushed to the centre for photography. They shied away, first, and then came together. He stood beside her. Her hands were to her sides and then, accidentally, his fingers brushed past hers. She turned red like a tomato and quickly pulled her hand in front. So did he. But the moment gave them both a natural smile. The skin of her elbow was touching the fabric of his coat. How she wished that time had frozen again, this time forever!
That moment... friends calling them names, teasing them with "Perfect couple!", "Made for each other!" and stuff like that. The voices and the flash of cameras.. and the feel of HIM, right next to her... she felt that they belonged to one another.
She felt the Magic.

School was over. Soon, they would move to college and begin a new story.
It was tough for her. She wasn't just leaving school and her friends behind, she was leaving the town as well. Her parents were to shift elsewhere and there was little chance of coming back to the town that she grew up in. Her world was crumbling every single day in front of her and she watched the pieces fall apart, helplessly. She pretended to be strong and ready for that new life. She acted like she was fine. She had had her good-byes and she was excited for the new hello-s.
But that was pretense. Inside, she was shattering.
By now, she had been sure that HER story was only hers. He was not interested in her. She was a friend to him who didn't matter much. She knew she would probably never see him again, all her life. So she thought that if this has to end here, this has to end well. After an intense war between her mind and her heart, she decided that she would tell him. Tell him about those dreams, those fantasies, those scribbles, that magic.
When she saw him that day, for what might be the last time, she couldn't bring herself to admit it. She watched him talk with his friends, laugh over something. She was memorizing him again. And then, he hit the ignition of his bike and drove past her.
He didn't look at her even once.
She kept on looking his way till the tail-lights of his bike went out of sight.
That was the last time she saw him.

Her friends would tell her that she was being stupid. She believed she was just being romantic.
They would tell her she was hopelessly in love. She believed she was holding on to her love.
She would reopen her diaries and read those incidents, reliving every Magic moment through those words.
She saved those crumpled chits that he threw at her during tests. She would look at his hand-writing, taking note of every curve of 'a' or the cut of 't'. She had his photograph in her cellphone, in her laptop, in her dairy, in her heart. She would dream of meeting him, sometime in the future, when they would both be prettier and smarter, and Magic would happen again. Somehow things would work out and it would actually be a fairy tale.
Sometimes the practical side of her took over the dreamy side, and she would wonder what all this will lead to. She wondered why she was so much in love with a boy who may not even remember her name after a few years.
In reality, her practical mind and dreamy heart were in constant battle and she swayed from here to there like a leaf in a tornado.

The girl and the boy, both moved to college.
She started missing him, badly.  She would cry herself to bed every night. She would listen to sad songs all day and picture them, moving apart from each other with every beat of the song.
One evening, she was looking at the setting sun from her window and memories came flooding before her eyes. But something inside triggered and she dialled his number on her cell-phone.
She had decided that she can't go on like this. This has to come to the bend which would decide her road ahead.
"Hello?" How she longed to hear his voice!
"Hey, it's me." Her voice was shaking.
"Hey, how are you? How's college going?"
"I'm fine. Everything is fine.
  And you?"
"Same as you.. all's fine."
Silence.
"Hello?" He checked if the line went dead.
"I'm here..."
"Say something, then. "
"Umm.. I had to tell you something, actually, but I can't really find words.."
"Really? Tell me. What is it?"

Her fingers were shaking vigorously. Her face had gone pale. She was cold. It was taking her every ounce of courage to tell him what she had written in her dairy for years, to tell him what she had told him so many times in her dreams, to tell him that she loved him.

"Umm.. I know that a lot of girls have told this to you before, and you might never talk to me after this... but... "
"Go on, I'm listening.."
"I just wanted to tell you that.. I like you!"

The last three words weren't exactly the ones she had wanted to say but they came out with the speed of lightning! A part of her relaxed a little because she had done her part. But another part was scared to death about the reaction at the other end of the phone!

There was silence... so she thought she must elaborate. She murmured to him, something about those dreams and the dairy pages. With every word she spoke, she felt like she was crossing her boundaries more and more. So she stopped, waiting for a response.

He finally spoke. "Okay."
"Hunh?" she was shocked with the insensitivity of the response.
"I said 'It's okay' "!
"And that's it? That's all you have to say?"
"What do you want me to say? I don't know how else to react!"

Silence again.
She couldn't believe what just happened.
She had mustered all the courage and guts she could, to tell him how much he mattered to her.
She had blurred her limits and silenced her conscience, for this one conversation.
She had done everything that she had never imagined in her wildest of dreams.

And he said,  "It's okay"??
"You've got to be kidding me, dude!
It's not 'okay'"... her heart was screaming to him.
Her conscience was mocking at her... "See, I told you not to do it?  This is what happens when you don't listen to me."

She stood by the window... staring at the darkness in the sky, the same spot where she saw the setting sun just minutes back. She stood there, numb.

"Hello?" his voice brought her back to the conversation.
"Bye", she said in a low voice. She couldn't talk more because she knew that she would break down any moment now.
"Bye?"
"I don't know what else to say. Bye."
"Bye."

As she hit the 'End Call' button on her cell-phone, she saw her world crashing down right in front of her. She cried inconsolably.
Later in the night, she wrote in her diary…
"Now I know why I couldn't say anything that day. Because it wasn't supposed to end there.
It was supposed to end today. Like this."

Another year has passed, now.
It has been five years since that first Magic.

She still thinks of him.
He is too busy topping his college.

She still dreams of that green room with the yellow lights and mistletoes and that romantic dance.
He studies late in the night and by the time, he shuts his eyes.. all he has in mind is alpha, beta, gamma and theta.

She still scribbles his name on her pages.
He is still focused on the point where the tip of his pen touches the plane of the paper.

She still browses through his photographs and videos.
He turns on his laptop only for Counter Strike and DOTA.

She still wishes him , first, on his birthday.
He never remembers her birthday.

She still finds it very difficult to forget him.
He remembers her like a distant memory.

She still calls him or texts him occasionally.
He never calls her himself.

She still loves him.
He never held her that important.

She is still waiting for him.
He had moved on long back.

She still believes in Magic.
He never believed in Magic.

Closest

Those closest to you

those nearest to your core

are often the first to leave

when life gets sore.

A little trust, a little faith is

all I seek when my ship is shaky

But your doubts never cease

and you leave like the passing breeze.

I crave for your comfort,

for you to hold me at my weakest.

But you shrug your arm away

And I am left to find my own way.

It makes me stronger, true -

having to find myself though the blues.

But I wish you hadn't left,

hadn't left me all confused and bereft.

Tell me that it's OK

I wish there was at least one person -
just one in this wide world of zillions,
who would tell me
that it's okay.
Because it's what I need the most
for some one to say.

To tell me that it's okay
if I lose my way;
that it's okay if I fall down
it's okay if I frown.
It's okay to fail,
It's okay if my boat doesn't sail.
It's okay to feel like trash
It's okay if my hopes crash.

Tell me that it's okay to feel broken
because the last time I checked,
broken crayons still color.

It's okay if you couldn't reach the moon,
The sun will shine on a new dawn, soon.

To tell me that it's just a phase,
it'll pass, and when it does - I'll be my own better version,
I wish there was at least one person.

Redemption

There are people highly misunderstood -
men and women with hearts that desire
and minds that fog and souls that have sinned -
there are people, like you and I.

It's not fair to put on a label on someone
when you don't know their side of the story.
Some people are just shy, or mean, or cold
not because it's their nature-
but because they're scared.
They're scared that you will damage
the already damaged.

Be nice, it doesn't cost much,
You never know who's going through which hell.
Sometimes, establishing a random connection
could be an act of redemption.

Let this be untitled!

There is a jam in my head

as if the neurons got mixed up

no one knows what to do, where to go

just like me.

If I don't formulate this chaos

into these words that type too fast

my head will explode into pieces

and there's already so much pollution,

so much noise and entropy - 

why add to the burden

besides being one.

Why is it that there is always

a point to prove to someone,

someone who is important - why?

I am only sinking another inch

for every inch that I wish to fly.

There is a crowd waiting

to watch you go down.

But I am not bothered about them,

I am bothered about me.

I want to be the woman I have

always thought I would be -

ever since I was three.

My worst nightmares lurk in my mind; 

and if I give them any air to breathe

they will resurrect and I will choke.

They will live, and I will die.

I can see I am walking 

towards a dead-end.

I am only hoping

that when I reach the end,

I shall realize it's only a bend.

Geometry of a Sugar Cube

There is a certain degree of tranquility in acceptance – the relief of a phase of transformation coming to an end, the end of a misfit moulding gradually – taking shape.

Have you ever seen a perfectly structured cube of sugar? How you can make out the individual granules and how you marvel at the way they hold on to one another in such strict discipline! They can reflect the beam of sunlight and they can fuse into absolutely tasteless liquids and transform them into something worthwhile.

When you pour boiling liquid over their near-euphoric dimensions, they do not crumble immediately. Maybe even they test their limits. Then, slowly – very gradually, you see the molecules dissociating. Their melting – almost a phenomena. And very rapidly, in the same disciplined way that they had been holding on to each other, they separate. They separate until you can no longer make out a definite structure; they separate until each part of it dissolves into a larger entirety. And suddenly, there is no distinction, no difference, no phase changes – because suddenly, everything is one.

Some mornings when I sip my coffee, I wish I was a sugar cube.

Your ink-stained fingertips

This ink that I bleed on this paper
had smeared your skin, seconds back;
I can't take my eyes off the stain
on your fingertips,
wishing - it does not dissolve
in the sweat of your hard-working hands.

You ask for the jar
on that far shelf,
and I'm making sure if
you are talking to me.
But when I look at you,
your hands are already extended -
towards me.

I give you whatever it is
that you wanted,
and in that brief span of time
while the transaction is still in progress,
your indigo stained fingertips
brush against mine,
and your warmth hangs on to me
long after you have turned away
with your charming smile.

You resume your work,
and I resume staring
at your ink-stained fingertips.

Thinking on the surface

Sometimes I am too tired to think
and there are times I am too tired from thinking.
There is such a subtle difference,
that even I hardly notice it.
All I see is the tiredness because
that's what is on the surface.
Or because that's what we have
been habituated to -
to see things that's just on the surface.
No one has the time to dig deep,
to know more,
to explore.
We're not curious anymore,
Too much judging has made our senses sore.
You will only see my tired eyes
or notice my quite demeanor
or maybe you will catch me cry -
but you will never ask me why.
You are busy running your rat race,
maybe even you don't know
what it is that you chase.
So you walk away thinking I'm just tired,
Because you only see what's on the surface,

Episode

Good things come in small packets -
Hazelnut cookies in tiny little sachets;
A box of scented crayons or
maybe a fancy flame of a tealight
or maybe one episode in your Life.

Episodes that come and go
like the breeze, but
the breeze whose fragrance
continues to linger on.
Of people you had met
and places you had gone,
you will find their traces - holding on.

Keep them close to your heart
and remember them time and again,
let them know you miss them,
that without them - it's not the same.
Spread love and warmth,
reinstall the lost faith in humanity -
all the good that you do
will, one day, find its way back to you.

Good things take time,
but great things happen in the blink of an eye.
You never know if your miracle
is just at the bend of the road -
Keep walking, get up when you fall -
Sometimes it takes all
that you have.

Emo - The Fighter Fish

She looks up at me
with eyes full of hope -
Hope that I will switch on the bulb
and cut the darkness engulfing her
Hope that I will give her the three tablets
each night that she needs
to stay alive
Hope that we'll be there for each other till another sunrise.

She comes running
every time I knock her door
Cutting through the water
With all that she has,
hoping that her hopes will find light.

She reminds me of a story I had heard long back :
To punish the King of Greece, Zeus - The Greek God,
had sent Pandora  on Earth with a forbidden box.
But curiosity got the better of her and she
opened the box - out came plague and misery and diseases.
Pandora shut the box just in time,
and Hope couldn't escape.
That's all that we have, that's all that we are left with - Hope.

So how do I tell my little Blue Fighter Fish
that I am also sitting back hoping
that one day my hopes will find their light, too.
How do I tell her that I am so similar to her -
only our fishbowls are different.

My dearest Tan Chilly

Writing letters to you

comes to me as easy as breathing -

to know there is one person who

chooses to keep me in her heart - beating.

Every evening as the incense sticks

burn to their death

and your smell fills the

room by its breadth,

I think of your untimely hugs

and big doe eyes - the biggest I have ever seen;

I want to run to you,

go back to who we were and how we had been.

I flew away in search for another nest,

where I could, at last, put my anxieties to rest

But peace I never found, my friend..
I don't know how to tell you ,
I thought I was as good as the best,

but I have failed the test.

My heart yearns to come back

but you won't be there too long,

the nest where I no longer belong.

Know that you are in my prayers.

Know that I love you

more than my words can get through.

A Second Chance

Chocolates, flowers and unexpected missed calls make you happy, but you know what makes you happiest? Knowing that you  are missed, loved and most importantly, even though it has been years, you are still remembered. You might be miles away from that place, those people and there are less than zero chances of returning to that world once again, and then right in the middle of an ordinary day you get this feeling.. and Life feels like a fairytale. That is what makes you the happiest.

When I was asked to write for the school magazine years after I had passed out, a thousand thoughts played across my mind and I could not understand how to compile my experiences, my memories and my gratitude in one article. So I shut my eyes and tried to find some calmness in the dark. Slowly, the dark faded into pictures that rolled past by mind like a camera roll.. pictures of those half-empty classrooms, scribbled desks, chalks drawing timetable on the green boards, devoured tiffin-boxes, restless legs in the assembly, sun-lit corridors,  weary March-past practices, green sashes, muted laughter, silly grudges, parking area, the grotto, the farewell.. and then I open my eyes.
My eyes see the present, but my mind is static on that last thought... Farewell. I see myself standing on the stage, the entire high-school hall before my eyes, flooded in that blinding spotlight. I cannot hear a sound in that crowd, except my own heartbeat. I cannot spot a thing in that light except that chit in my hand that says, "My most beautiful moment in School?". My mind goes blank because memories from all spectrums rush to focus on one spot and it becomes white. So I mumble something I do not even remember. It was only after I handed over the mic to the next nominee did I realize that I did not justify the question. So, after all these years, if there is anything I want to go back and change, it is that one answer. Second chances are rare in Life and I am grateful for this one.
So this would be my modified version : 

"Eight years in this paradise have given me eight million memories - each of them beautiful, memorable and unique in their own amazing way. Choosing one out of those millions, would be unjust to the others. And yet, since being diplomatic would not be accepted here and I have to pick that moon among the stars, I would say it is THIS moment. This moment that I get to stand before all of you and have the honour of acknowledging my gratitude towards every single soul present here for being there in the making-years of my Life. I want to thank you because no matter how minute our interaction might have been, but your appreciation or your complaints, your attention or your ignorance, your friendship or your grudges, your words or your silence had its own individual role to play in making me the person I am today. This moment is MY CHANCE  to bid farewell to friends, to teachers, to every brick of this school, to this town. This might be a long interval before I see you again, so I want each one of you to know that you will always be remembered, no matter where I go or who I become. This is MY MOMENT.
Thank You!"

I told you what makes you happiest.  Take down one more secret : Nothing satisfies your soul more than the completion of a task that has remained incomplete for years.

I hate You.

I hate you.

You and your million new ways to make me hate you.

You made me cry the very first time I saw you.

You push me down every time I tried to stand up. You made me crawl and eat insects in the mud until one day,  I fought you and walked by myself - wobbly, yes, but on my feet.

You backed me up when I made mistakes, knowingly.

You heard me yelling my lungs out when the barber shaved me head, but you did nothing.

You witnessed me wait year after year for something that would never happen. You knew but you did not tell me.

You saw me cry myself to bed. You saw me toss and turn on lonely, sleepless nights. You only smirked.

You have made me lose so much - faith, confidence, dreams, people.

You always have an excuse when I need reasons.

You are always silent when I need answers.

You confuse me. You hurt me. You break me.

So why am I still with you?

Because you are me. And I am you.

It is true that you knock me down but it is also true that when you shove me into darkness, I find my courage to build new sunshine.

When you steal my umbrella in pouring rain, I look for rainbows.

When you make me cry, I make myself laugh.

For every person I lost, I met someone new. For every belief you busted, I made stronger resolves. For all the times you stayed silent, I searched my own answers.

You keep breaking me, and I keep reconstructing.

I will not give up. I will not break up.
You will.. someday. And you will be sorry you did, because right in the middle of so much hatred stands the inevitable, undeniable and absolute fact that

Dear Life,
I love you.

DEAD OR ALIVE?

I wake up to the cruel rays of sun pouring in through the only ventilator in the dingy cell. My spine no longer feels as rigid as it did in my earlier days of imprisonment. I get up and make my way towards the earthen water pot, the only piece of evidence of some inhabitation, besides a blanket that lies crumpled on the floor. I drink the tasteless water by cupping my palms, because there is no glass. That is all I get for breakfast. Water and sunshine. I move to the only part of the cell that receives some light in all day, and sit there. Head bowed down, my eyes closed - as if in meditation. The pictures move in a reel, like a movie.. the same that I watch, everyday.. for the last twenty months.

26 November, 2012 - I was married to him. Chetan  Garg. Handsome, rich, powerful. To be marrying one of the most successful and established business tycoons was a matter of whooping pride for almost all I knew. Not that I wasn't ecstatic, who wouldn't be - with  a castle to rule, a ferry of cars to line up as soon as I step foot outside, all luxuries at the click of my fingers.. little did I know that my castle was a mere fragment of my fairytale imaginations.

Things seemed to be in a dream sequence when I moved into his house. With just the two of us in that gigantic house and all the time in the world, love and ecstasy achieved newer heights every day.  Every moment that brought me closer to him took me farther and farther from those that I had known, till a point where the only individual I recognized as 'own' was my husband. By the next month, things seemed to be finally falling  into place and we weren't out of breath all the time. As work pressure gravitated him more and more towards his office (or so I thought), he seemed colder every night. I thought I understood. The fire in the  beginning had given way to this strange emptiness and I didn't know what to do with it, and one day, the emptiness awoke the animal. He beat me all night till his hands became soar. I screamed and  begged, cried and yelled but nobody heard. That night, I thought this was the end of the world but this was only the beginning of the end. I couldn't move a limb in the morning when he kicked me hard to make him his morning coffee. Frustrated, he got up himself, kicked me thrice again before leaving the room. Just at the threshold, he turned back and said "I'm not done with you yet".

I tried contacting my family and friends but the Call for Help went in vain because all telephone lines had been cut off. All servants and house helps were indefinitely suspended. All doors and windows were bolted from outside. I was trapped. The days and nights merged into one another - I would be beaten, whipped, kicked around the house and Chetan said if I screamed, he would break my teeth.
I tried breaking free - but he said he would kill my family if I did. Powerful that he was, he could if he wanted.

 A part of me was dying every day. I was lying on the kitchen floor one morning.. a dozen cockroaches crawling near my face. I wanted to scream but did not open my mouth, scared Chetan was home. I laid motionless on the cold marble floor, with blood oozing out of the gashes on my body. The sunlight from the ventilator sparkled in the blood. When I was sure I was alone, I dragged myself up - staining as many surfaces as I stumbled on, for support. I caught my reflection on a broken mirror as I was making my way to the bathroom. A face- bruised beyond recognition, starred back at me through her hollow blood-shot eyes. Torn clothes clung to her at minimal places and bloody gashes all over the body screamed for help. That image was my turning point. The courage that had been extinguished by the first whip against my back, rekindled. My line of tolerance had been crossed long back but it was time to fight the war.  It was time for freedom. Time to overcome the broken bones and weeping bruises. Time to raise my voice. Time to save me. I had to be my own hero.

Five months of sharing the house with the devil had made me perfectly acquainted to his timings and habits. I knew that the front door would be unlatched at exactly nine thirty at night. That gave me ten hours of preparation time. I stood under the shower and let the water trickle down my pain. I put on fresh clothes, combed my hair and applied my favourite lipstick. By eight-thirty, I was ready. Ready for the final showdown. When the knob turned at exactly nine-thirty, the lights were off and it was dark. Chetan stepped into it, amused. He always left the lights on and I was not mobile enough to regulate the  light switches. As soon as he turned to flick the lights on, I struck him on the head with the heaviest vase in the house. He turned around - the shock in his eyes giving way to the cold animal anger that no longer intimidated me. He raised his hands to strike me but I was ready and before his fist made contact with my chest, I had plunged the butcher knife into his gut. Blood pooled down around our legs. But the monster wasn't deadyet. He pulled out the knife from his abdomen in one agonizing but swift motion and struck me on the face. I had no time to react to the pain. I grabbed the curtains on the door and pulled them over him in one rapid pull. He was confused for a few seconds and that was all the time I had in hand. I had no time to think or strategize. I picked up the heavy curtain rod and hit on the round protrusion under the fabric that I presumed to be the head. I hit and hit and hit till my hands felt sore. I screamed every time the rod hit a part of him, as if making up for all those times that I had shut up. When the rod fell out of my hands, I starred at the river of blood sipping out of the soaked curtain. I lifted it up without a flinch, looked at those hollow, bloodshot eyes and the lifeless limbs seemed to make me alive! I murdered him and I was not sorry. I had conquered the evil, and I was pleased with myself. After months, I felt alive.

I walked out of the doors, not looking back even once. I had earned my freedom.

I was charged against third degree murder. I did not deny it but put forth both sides of the coin. The court seemed to be in two minds about me. So they sentenced me to three years of imprisonment. I have already completed half my term in the jail (but, it doesn't seem as bad as the prison I have escaped from). A few months later, I shall be released.

I am waiting for the Life that lays ahead - for the dreams to realize, the smiles to spread and the courage to inspire. After all, I am alive again.