I held on to the bygone reality as the blood gushing through – softly froze in my veins.
The profanity of the moment slew the sanctity of my emotions’ withered remains.

A strangulated cry emanated from inside, having ridden over the fragments of my pride.
Even as I see two pairs of footprints on the sand being swept away by a blindfolded tide.

Thoughts hysterically flooded from within as my life startlingly walks me to an interlude,
But pearls of redemption falling off my eyes say words of wisdom, once and for good.

I walk into the sea longing to hug the orange horizon, wanting to evade these pains alone,
Not realising that walking to the Sun will burn my soul and benumb my heart to a cold stone.

Treacherous tides and weeping clouds held me back where I was, not permitting me to reach.
By staying quiet, in their own upright ways, these listeners found a million ways to teach.

As these voiceless listeners comfort my soul and soothingly kiss its bleeding scars.
With peace and solace, I lie down on the cold sand counting a zillion twinkling stars.

Whispers of the wind and the blues of the heart.

It was a stormy night. But wasn't like the usual storms. It was a cold wintry night. I could feel the chills inside my blanket. It was uncomfortable, the cold. I got up and walked up to the fire place and stood in front of it. He had gone to the forest and gathered some wood the day before, because he had wanted to spend a nice, cozy, romantic weekend with me. Just the two us. Two warm droplets of tears trickling down my cheeks shook me and brought me back to where I was. A loud, stormy night.

I lit the fire and sat in the settee near it. A deep, hypnotising voice buzzed in my ears and an electrifying touch held me from behind. It was him. I didn't even need my senses to feel his touch. I was aware of and acquainted with every inch of his body. He was beautiful. He was mine. He held me from behind, shifted my hair to the other side and kissed me on my neck. It was still magical, his touch. I opened my eyes with a start to a loud thundering sound. My tired, afraid eyes searched for him but he was no where to be seen. It was just that room - dark, and deserted; except for the fire that was caught up by then.

I looked at the fire. Its brightness was numbing my eyes, just like the reality. I walked up to the table and poured myself a glass full of Merlot. I drank it at once and let the night crawl up on me. He would always say I looked a little more beautiful when drunk, the inebriation would glow through my eyes. I walked up to the mirror, looked at myself in the eyes. There was pain, there was fear, and there was agony. There was no glow. Liar. My heart called out to him. Tears began streaming down my face uncontrollably as I haplessly started to shout his name. He was gone, was the answer; but this intoxicated mind didn't want to listen to it. The rain had stopped and so had the stormed outside; but the one within was far from seeking its solace.

I walk back to our room. Our room. That place was testimony to our love and those walls had seen some of our deepest secrets unfold. Tonight, they all stare at me in disbelief and in empathy, wanting to shelter me, wanting to blanket me with some comfort. And the wind blows through the window, struggling its way through the curtains that you had chosen for us; it touches me all over and quietly whispers into my ear, you're happy in whichever world you are.

I had a pair of beautiful keys to a room when I was a small kid,

Somehow, nobody saw that mystical place, quite like I did. 

You, a traveler, stumbling upon that sublimely deserted place,

seek to take a walk through the lanes of its tarrying trace.

With your dreamy eyes,

look into that colourful eclipse one more time,

there's life ringing in it, like a peacefully echoing chime.  

The phenomenal chase.

In these woods, as a pack of wolves howls tonight,
I seek solace amidst the gray shadows of my fright.

The shrieks of spooky witches hovering around my mind,
slowly stabbing me with the evils I left behind.

Driving through the pangs of this resilient silence, 
fighting through the vices of my smooth conscience,
I realize that,
the deadliest weapons don't always belong to the one who laughs last.
Sometimes, they only encompass jinxed words and condemned memories from the past.

The painfully suffocated screams of spirits buried in mud.
When i look at my hands, they reek of innocent blood.

Sinful and sorry, I join my hands in shame,
crying to myself, seeking for an end to this game.

But if only could digging graves bring them all back to life,
I would burrow them out and retract my acts, put an end to my strife.

My resignation.

When, one day, you'd be sitting alone by a beautiful lake,
think of me as I'd be long gone by then, and cry a little if that'd ache.

Think of the stories we shared and the memories we engraved-
laugh at the laughter whose faint echo now stands saved.

Think of my poems and songs, stories of everything I loved and lost.
Watch the stars overhead and calculate how much those bygone times cost.

Think of me, how I hid my face in your chest and shed the bitterest tears,
clench your fist when you can't stop my voice from reverberating in your ears.


Think of my resignation as you see the sky change its color to a darker blue,
take a walk down the memory lane as you start, one more time, to get mad at me.

Think of everything that was right and how it went all wrong.
Shout at the moon and the stars - because that'd be where I'd then belong.

Two left feet.

 I stood there, waiting in the dark-
Quietly watched you disembark.

Your eyes said a different story,
demarcated by your pride and glory.

A dusty smile blanketed your face,
as you succumbed to an unlocked embrace.

A hundred constellations instantly shattered,
as chaotic shades of heartache spattered.

Words trickling down my misty eyes,
wanting you to drop the disguise,

Your indifference traveled through each hole,
and its pain dug deep through my soul.

The empty street and the peaceful silver,
the truth that isn't and the fearful quiver,

You say you know it all,
yet not ready to let me take the fall.

So, yet again,
we fix everything in sight,
and, two left feet FELT right

Seared love, torrid nullity.

Everything that once existed, withered and became quiet
in the darkness of those four walls and the silence of the night.

She put away the smile that she had borrowed,
and sought solace in the tears that followed. 

A tattered, dusted photograph, the only light she'd see.
A shooting pain emanated at its lapsed guarantee.

Shattered, torn and bruised inside,
She suckled tears as a lonesome child

Blistered by blazes of shame and doused in the puddles of blame,
smothered by emotions as she locked her eyes to the eyes in the frame.

And one more time, it felt right; it felt right to cry a little more,
in the treacherous sea of nothingness, it still looked like a beautiful shore.

A not so darkling journey, after all.

In eternity, there is all the time in the world. It's a myriad space of everlastingness. And there, you have all the time to change, all the time to evolve, to detract. Anything but constant. In the broader spectra of eternity, death is not the end; it is simply a pause, a lacuna before you're addressed to the next lap- next life. And once you step there,  you're never the same again. Change is all you've brought with you, and change is all you'll take away. One  being the gift of life, the other, of death.

Beneath a thousand laughs.

Frozen and motionless.
Undisturbed and still, as she lay.
The poignance in my air paved way for a deep sense of dismay.

Quiet and unruffled.
She looked at peace, more beautiful than ever.
Flourishing in the springs of heaven, now and forever.

--

This starry night, I want to make you seem alive.
I am going to write you again.
One more time, Get you with me, to my empty terrain.

When his eyes met hers, he stared into them. Deeply.

Long, curly eye lashes. Big eyes. Deep brown. Beautiful.

The kohl in the sides of her eyes had smudged because of weeping. Beautiful, nevertheless.

The innocence in them, the spark in them, though wry, the pain in them, plunged a hole at the center of his heart; in a blink of an eye. 

Who says, eyes aren't a heart's a mirror? 

Who says that eyes aren't a soul's a mirror?

The ascendance of the Prince of Darkness.

Slowly and gradually, I feel my hot breath become a cloud of steam, a huge monstrous cloud. I glance down at my boiling skin. Drop by drop; I see my flesh and blood fall off my bones. In no time, I realize that I’m no more than a heap of melted flesh and broken, dissolved bones. My floating eyes look up for one last glimpse of despair as the devil’s lashing tongue laps up my remains for one last taste of victory. The world around seems to be spinning and twirling in a malicious manner, combusting from the joy of seeing another slain. With my very last cry, I wither away as darkness sets in to signal that all hope is lost.

I am gone and can not return once more.

This life is definitely not a fairy tale.

The image that you hold of somebody can never remain constant. It changes as the relationship evolves, and most of the times, it ends at a rotting note.

and THAT realization, times like those are the ones that define new boundaries of lonesomeness. 

Burning the perils of degeneration of her wisdom and sanity,
stinging apathy, the guilt and the culpability.

She leaped up high from that ash and the soot,
the dark smoke and the gigantic fire, scorching down till its root.

All meekly left behind, for the mighty phoenix had sprung up high,
leaving apart the frailty and the filth to gruesomely burn and die.

Tonight's a long night.

“Your coffin reached the monstrous hole. And a part of me went down into the muddy earth with you and lay down next to you and died with you." -Rosamund Lupton


 She lay still on her bed, trying to neutralize the thoughts that were to cloud the spaces of her mind. But soon enough, she could feel her heart race. Teardrops began to well in her eyes. She shut her eyes tightly and clutched her head between her palms. She realized, she couldn't take it any longer. She got up and punched hard against the window that opened up to an empty dark street. ​Yes, the loudest shrieks are often silenced and numbed beneath some obscure scars and blood. Her hand bled, maybe there was broken glass that had pierced her hand, too; but she didn't flinch. She simply stood there staring purposelessly at that one mangled streetlight...

Silence. The clock read 2 45 am. It was quieter than ever before and somewhere, that silence was consuming her. She lit a cigarette, smoke pluming out of her nose and mouth. She felt a bit more intoxicated. Failing to balance herself, she sat on the window pane, looking at the empty lane and then at the dark sky. 

And then all of a sudden, far away, from somewhere, she heard a woman cry. It was a loud, painful scream; lowered due to the distance from where the voice was coming. The sound was dim but it was loud enough to startle her and give her chills down the spine. She covered her ears, tears streaming down her warm cheeks; but the woman just wouldn't stop. And then, that incident flashed before her eyes. What she'd been averting since the evening, finally happened. 

Her new sedan. Alcohol. Loud music. The speed. A poor old woman crossing the road. The small boy holding her hand. The accident. Blood. Two dead bodies. Hit-and-run. She shut her eyes in a bid to drive away the memory; it seemed futile. She began trembling with fear, guilt, shame, and self loathe. But in vain. Nothing was meant to comfort her at that moment. Morally, nothing should have comforted her then. 

Well, I don't know how did that night pass.

It's morning now and everyone in the hospital is only talking about the latest case, that's being claimed as the "most exciting" and the "most mysterious" one in a very long time. A young girl's found dead in her apartment under inscrutable circumstances. The postmortem report, apparently, revealed nothing; nor did the forensics find anything around her. After several rounds of inspections, the body was finally sent to the morgue where it lay next to the corpses of an old woman and a young boy.

Maybe the world's actually a round place. 
Maybe whatever goes around, comes around.
Maybe guilt is too strong an emotion.
Maybe dying changes everything.
Maybe people are irrational.
Maybe the decisions made in the blink of a moment are almost, always wrong.

The moon seems unusually closer when the other "distances" widen.

Good old days

Almost everyone has "those good old days" that they wish would come back to them.

Impeccant, carefree days of endless laughter, boundless fun, trueness, faith, love, and friendship; that had the strength to do wonders. 

Those days when you didn't have to care about practically anything and anyone.

Days when you could curl up comfortably in a warm- cozy blanket with your bestfriend after having played in the rain for a really long time.

When almost everything in your world would shine with the smile of that one bestfriend of yours.

Times when you didn't know what and how to cook, but you would still exercise your nonsensical culinary skills and make the most inedible foods but would still eat, just because you're too young to handle money (to order food from outside) and you're too hungry and nobody's home.

When school homework would get over in 2 hours (just because you're so brilliant) and then theres all the time in the world to talk, play and laugh. 

When you didn't have to think twice before saying something, only because talking out loud was as good as talking to yourself, or talking to the mirror.

Days when there was no one to judge you by the way you looked, the way you dressed, the way you spoke.

When you could laugh loudly and don't feel shy about looking like a demented horse. 

Days when innocence, sisterhood, purity, trust, hope and love was the order of the day.

Yes, those were the times. Those were the days, the good old days. Sumi.

The mid-night silence.

The mid-night silence knocks at my door, waiting to hug me in the dark.

It reminds me of your charming words and of your beauteous touch.
your aura still lingers around, im surprised for its gotten too far.

The mid-night silence knocks at my door, waiting to hug me in the dark.

No, I don't want to respond to it tonight, for it brings with itself the awareness of your absence; making the hurt overtly agonizing.

But the mid-night silence still knocks at my door, waiting to hug me in the dark.

Maybe it knows about the vacuumed crack that's plunged by the absence of your jollied self. But that's nt where silence or loneliness is to reside, for what'll stay there is the never-dying desire to see you again and fill in those gaping holes with the alive beams of your laughter and love.

The mid-night silence knocks at my door, waiting to hug me in the dark.

And while it waits in the dark to embrace me, i embrace the acceptance of your absence tonight.

Know God or no God?

Religion. It indeed is a deep subject, something that the average teenagers and youngsters don't usually talk about. There are ofcourse more important and significant issues to be discussed, the peppy pink dress that the wicked girl staying next door bought, or the new haircut that Shruti's bestfriend got done, the new girl Rahul is running after, or the new phone that Payal's wanting to buy. Oh, the issues never end. The little substantial topics like these hold absolutely no prominence!

However, today, while going through something on the internet, i came across a photograph of a supposedly religious guru, Asaram Bapu, wherein a girl, purportedly her disciple, was sitting on his lap and his hands seemed to be in a compromising position. Now, i don't know about the verity of that picture. But yeah, I saw it on the net.

That somewhere sparked a discussion with a friend, who happens to be an atheist, a hardcore believer of godlessness. The discussion began with the existence of the agnostics- people who claim that they cannot have true knowledge about the existence of God, but at the same time, do not deny that God might exist. To this, he said that this is exactly the problem of people, they need a middle ground to rest. They don't have the guts to defy his existence because, to put in layman's language, they're simply God fearing. Maybe he's right, or maybe it's because you don't always necessarily have to be an extremist, you can at times, stay moderate about a few things in life. Like how I'd put- the ones who'd have the prasad and the aarti, but never light up a deepak by themselves. 

Now, this is actually a fact, there are not many atheists in hinduism. Most of the Hindu homes would have a corner devoted to Gods, a small temple. However, atheism in Hinduism is an old pick too. He sent me this link to support his view- Atheism in hinduism. He complained, "Why are these teachings of the Vedas kept hidden from us by the learners and scholars of Hinduism? When the concept of atheism has been prevalent since ages, then why do these gurus blame it on the influence from west?"

Well, true. Atheism is not a new idea. Im sure it's been there in existence  ever since the concept of God's there in the world. With light, there's dark, always (in no particular order here.) But the westernization too might be a major reason. Indians are known to copy, it's sad, but true. Like how there are those wannabe taporis with a cross (Jesus) around their necks, for absolutely no rhyme or reason. They wear it solely to look "Cool." They may have never visited a church, but they'd always be wearing one. On similar grounds, there'd be a lot of people who'd irrationally call themselves "atheists" and a say few harsh dialogues against the almighty to get themselves counted in the league of the "smart" ones from the west. It's all only about pretension.

Some time back, I was sitting with two friends, Priya and Reena, late at night, talking about everything and anything. Reena had a book on Buddhism with her.

Priya- What's this that you're carrying with you?

Reema- It's a book on the theories and lessons taught by Buddhism. My mum and me, we follow it. It's done wonders to us. 

(and she went on describing the ideologies and hypotheses of its teachings. Because, i'd read The Bhagwad Geeta and The Ramayana, i had a basic idea of its lessons; and could easily see the similarities between the two. But i didn't want to be the intruder, so I only listened.)

Priya- This seems to really very interesting. Can i borrow your book for a week? I want to read it. Also, if you could tell me about some of the sessions on Buddhism, so that I can attend a few?

Reema- Sure, I will let you know about them.

That conversation ended there and Reema handed over her book to Priya. 3 months, and Priya has still not touched that book. Neither has she bothered going to a single session of theirs. 

Why did she show so much interest that night? Not because she genuinely felt a connection, but because she simply wanted to try some thing new. It honestly doesn't matter what the concept is, all that matters is if that'd gain you some kinda popularity! Or earn you some good comments and remarks.

Religion literally means "A strong belief in a supernatural power or powers that control human destiny." Today, almost anything is being done in the name of that Almighty! Right from taking money to breaching laws and trust and taking lives. His name is merely a name now, the meaning is somewhere snatched outta it. Everything's come down to showbiz, nothing's spared any more. And sad enough, religion is no exception. 

Damned if you do

I was having my breakfast and reading the morning daily , while carelessly surfing through my facebook newsfeed , when my eyes caught hold of the "times of india" page that spoke of the suicide of Jiah Khan , the young and promising Indian actress who hung herself to death . Yes , it was hard to digest . I immediately changed the channel on tv from doraemon and started surfing towards the news channels . All of them were flooding with inputs speaking of her suicide , trying to decipher the reason and giving in the other needed and no-so-needed details .

So , the previous night , June 2, 2013 , she had sought to this extreme measure at 11 45 pm by hanging herself from the ceiling fan at her residence , in the absence of her mother and sister .  Initially , her unsuccessful career after a promising beginning with a debut against Mr Bachhan was cited as the prime reason behind this step . News channels spoke of how she was too young to judge herself and how should have waited and tried harder and not given up .

However , the biggest possible twist in the tale came about 4 days later , when her sister found a six- page long suicide note  that clearly suggested her plan of ending her life . It also brought to light an uberly ugly picture of her decaying relationship with her boyfriend , Suraj Pancholi , a struggling actor and  son of Aditya Pancholi . 

The letters summed up into facts that shook the bases of the case . She was repeatedly harassed , physically and mentally  by the man in question . Apparently , she had aborted their child too but nothing mattered to him and her cries and wails fell to his deaf ears . He repeatedly cheated on her and was ostensibly , living on her money too . After living through such an abusive relationship , she heard her dreams shatter and could see no reason to live .

The investigation began and Pancholi was taken behind the bars . However , being a popular actor's son , considerations were given , hearings were delayed . And etc etc , like how things go here .

But regardless of whatever happens , one life's gone . One person's chance to shine bright is asleep . Her dreams , her aspirations , her hopes , the candle burning it all's dimmed . People are blaming the man for doing it all her . But , somewhere she's equally to be blamed for taking everything from him . Like Gandhiji's rightly remarked , the person who bears oppression is equally  , or maybe more at fault as compared to the oppressor . She killed herself , she  snatched the happiness of her mother , her sister , her friends , people who cared for her , people to whom she mattered . And she did all that for someone who doesn't care, never did and supposedly never will . He might as well be watching a football match with his friends or maybe having beer and partying with new girls . Her loved ones , on the other hand , her mother ,would still  probably be sitting in a corner with her deceased daughter's photograph , pondering over the tragedy , still struck at the reality of the disbelieving act . Ultimately , who's the loser ? It's neither the girl nor the boy . It's the people who have stayed back and have to face the silence after the storm . 

My childhood friend once asked me , if it's okay to kill yourself and if it's not , then should we hate the person who's done that ? The truth is , everything under the sun can be reasoned out , it can be rationalized and molded according  to your wishes and wants , so there's hardly anything that remains - right or wrong . It's purely a state of mind . However , the only thing that should be remembered here is , that "death" is  an irreversible action , Once done , can never be undone . And once a person is gone , you hate him / love him / miss him , nothing would matter to him at all , because he's gone . It's you who has stayed back and you know the pain , you know the suffering .  Hate is too negative an option and with the pain and the misery already there in the air , there'd be no room for hate . Practicality says , move on - life goes on . Blah- blah . Reality , cling on to the memories, but remember the fact that you're alive and there're more lives attached to you and you wouldn't want them to have a taste of the medicine that you're currently on . 

It's too complicated a thing to speak on , actually . Hundred people , hundred different ideas , hundred different ways to deal it . 

May Jiah Khan's soul rest in peace and may her family and friends be given the strength to endure this pain because they're the actual fighters at the moment .

Samay samay ki baat hai , it's all about timing

Though i had woken up , I was still on my bed, lying cozily wrapped-up in my quilt, dreamily following the raindrops and the dark clouds that had completely blanketed the evening sky, making it look all the more appealing . There was a sense of serenity in the air, maybe that's the beauty of the season. That early-morning-nip-in-the-air waala season , haye life seems just too happpy during such times . Leaving your homes in the morning and folding your pants to your knees and walking to your school-college-work-nowhere splashing water all over , chapaaak-chapak, exclaiming at the rich spoilt brat with the "i am back from youuuu-aaaaass-aayeee" look , who ruined your record of not-bathing-for-a-month by driving past you and wetting you , with a bonus package of a wet mud pack. And then sitting the whole day with wet socks , yes there's good in that too. It's all about timing . Maybe that's the beauty of this season.

With the entire picture of the next day's morning in my mind , i got up and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea for myself . The tea was still brewing and the milk , boiling , when i got a message from my bestfriend . She said , there was a bomb outside her office and she's on her way back home . Half confused and half bewildered , I was wondering the big deal about a "laxmi-bomb" until she mentioned words like police and evacuation .

My heart skipped its next beat and then began to pace faster than usain bolt when i realized what that meant . Yes , it's all about timing . She was safe now but the very thought of her being sooo close to a live-actual-bomb sent chills down my spine . I simply didn't know what to do and how to react.  I wanted to know more about it , but somehow couldn't gather the courage to ask anything more . I sat down and shut my eyes , and prayed for a minute . I don't know what is it that i prayed for , but i simply did . Somewhere , i kicked myself for being selfish and remembering God only when i needed him , but nevertheless , i just did that .  She was home in the next fifteen minutes .

I heaved a sigh of relief . Went back to the kitchen , the water had boiled off & hot falls of milk were flowing down the burner to the sink . It's all about timing ! I turned the gas off and cleaned it up . I looked out , it was still raining .

I wore my crocs and went out for a walk , i probably needed that . I was still scared and frightened . i wondered - the uberly basic question . WHY . Why does this happen . I remember reading Ajmal Qasab's interview after he had attacked on the 26/11 and before he was hanged , it didn't make sense then , it doesn't make sense even now . How can you plainly become so disdainful that you can take innocent lives without any rhyme and reason . And what can we commoners do about it ?? It feels so helpless , it feels so weak . People speak of not living in fear and things like that , even i would say that to my family and friends  , but when it'd come to letting them do the same , I'd think twice first and then probably ask them to stay away . Im sure most of you would do that too . It's a maze and there's no answer to it because the reality is , somewhere, we are simply puppets in the hands of the government , the system and the terrorists .

I checked my watch , it was 7 30 pm , the rains had stopped , i began to walk back towards my home . it was muddy and my wet clothes felt sticky . It was irritating . A zooming car brushed past me , splattering a large deal of muddy water on me . I yelled at him , calling him names but he didn't stop , I ofcourse knew he anyway wouldn't have . It didn't feel good this time . Yes , it still was the nip-in-the-air waala season , but it didn't feel good then . Maybe it's all about the timing ! Maybe that's the beauty of -something- too . ..