Knowing Me...

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If I say I'm just a teenager leading a life as normal as it can get, I sort of defy what I stand for. Its not all that easy but it has its moments. I like those moments when they come along and they bring with them a significant amount of emotion, which I only began expressing in words at age 7. Since then, its all about the writing. It gets to certain people and some just don't get it! But I think that its important for me to write because that is maybe the only talent that exists in me [not denying the presence of good enough speech to win a few here and there =P] There is little I know and there is much I simply yap about but I make sure that if its really got to be said, it better be said, however in the wrong or right. I feel much. There are lot of things I plainly observe and those are sort of the things that I adore writing about. I'm inspired by minute details and small things that have a huge impact much later on. There is much more to me that most know and many have bothered not about. Not like I want them to. But I'd like to be known. And that's what I think I stand for, being known beyond what is known. =D

Friday, December 20, 2013


An impulse lingers
in my mind, like a memory.
I find it, growing,
manifesting into an itch
on my skin, begging me
to lean in for relief.

I make a ripple on the surface
clawing tensely into the abyss
retaining it in my grasp -
lest I lose it, lest I forget.

A tender fear pulsates
with censure, remorse
and in painful regret.

A familiar touch beckons
tugging me across bounds
waiting for me to give in.
There is a rustling among the sheets
taunting my resolve.
But I’m scared to reveal what
lies between and beneath.

A window of escape
and a chance to break away
create a fissure and plunge
this torment into decay.

But I find myself in surrender
and extracted by the flow
I swim, I sink, I wade and drown
and finally, let go.

An empty joy escapes me.
Those sheets are quietened
by the weight they bear
of reaction and action,
resistance and submission,
and much else.

I, bereft
of my semblance,
relinquish my hold
on that which makes me whole -
On the pieces of paper
now tied to my soul.

Music of the Mountains

[Dedicated to the wonderful experience that was Celeste Fest 2013 - Mussoorie]
Dated: 26-10-2013

Melody dresses the night,
and her thoughts spread their wings
and take flight.

Laughter echoes on the green,
and her mind races forward
To capture every moment seen.

Whispers do the rounds,
And her senses make sense of secrets
And sights out of sounds.

The chill runs through
Her every impulse,
and she wraps herself in her wings as they grew.

The world laughs, sings, rejoices,
And moves on
and yet, her heart and mind remain captives
Of the chill,
the beauty,
And the song.


[Watching too much Medical Drama on TV can often result in poetic creations]

We live on the assumption that we'll live long enough.
So we push meaning into everything
Like the IV drip that sustains a dying being -
if only, for the time.

We love with the assumption that we'll get some back.
Like the blood transfusion
That brings a new lease of life, even if at the cost of another -
If only,  for a while longer.

We hope on the assumption that someone will answer us,
and Our prayers will take effect
Like the experimental drug that heals with time -
If only, for a brief surge.

We live on the assumption that we'll die someday.
So we wait with bated breath
For the moment to come
Like the CPR that may just get the heartbeats going
If only, for the moment
Laden with hope love and life,
That goes in an instant -
Just as we assume we will.


Shabdo ki khoj mein nikal pade ho
andheri dhund mein kho na jaana
panno ko talaashti tumhaari nazrein
par sukhe patto ki tarah
hawaao ke jhokho mein kho na jaana.


Words get written and erased
like memories forgotten and lost.
Thoughts come and go like breezes
that promise rain, and bring droughts.
Feelings fail to manifest
into anything more than just
And lost again, is that speck of hope
in a whirlwind of dust.


Search for it in the deserts
and it eludes you with ease.
Sift through clouds to find it
and be drowned by the howling breeze.
Surge across the seas,
made of canvasses of the mind,
and reveal all but that faint hope
that playfully left you behind.


Let strike you like lightning
and let the blitz curl your nerves.
Let thrash you like a tidal wave
and let the current wash away your fears.
Let the bleary horizons engulf you
and let the world toss you left from right
until the seed of creation seeps into you
and you wrench it from your heart and write.

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Chaandni Raat

Takti rahi andher nagri mein
Woh chaand nazar na aaya
Jo pichhli raat, armaano ko,
Meri galli la kar muskaya.
Keh raha, intezaar mein raho mere
Ummeedo ka savera hoon,
Par jab tak suraj nahin jagta,
Bekaar, raho mere.

Keh raha, mere deedar ko tarasti iss bhookh ko
Mehfuz rakhna seekho.
Apne deedo ko ikraar se bhigati pyaas ko
aankhon mein bharna seekho.
Kasme vaade, saare saje
Iss thaal mein tumhari,
Sindoor se bhari maang mein
Taare saje tumhari.

Pichhli raat ko chaand aaya
Meri galli, muskaya,
Aaj uss mein bhi ek naya noor hai
Aaj mujh mein ek halka ghuroor hai.
Jo chaand ko apna maan kar
Chal diye maine apne kadam
Aaj, poora chand na hoga
Par uss mein, uss se, poore honge hum.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Meri Dilli

Ghar kar gayi dil mein Dilli
Jaise raat mein lipti kaali billi
Kabhi mohabbat, kabhi hai khilli.
Ghar kar gayi dil mein Dilli.

Jab dhalti hai yahaan shaam sunehri
Ya uthe suraj sunehra
Jab baarish deti hai pehri
Aur dhund ka chhaa jaata hai ghera
Tab yaad aati hain galiyaan
Iss shehar ki, rangeeli
Mann mein baha ke khushiyon ki nadiyaan
Ghar kar gayi dil mein Dilli.

Sochti hoon chhod jaoon
Iss sab ko meelo peechhe
Aasmaan mein main ud jaoon
Chhute jag saara neeche
Tab kheench laati hai waapas yeh yaadein
Pyaar takraar aur zindagi mein mili
Nahin ab kisi aur jagah se naate
Ghar kar gayi dil mein Dilli.

Monday, August 5, 2013


I hate my hands.

I think they're really ugly - stubby fingers, darkened knucles and joints, broad and tall palm and bitten off nails [who wants to keep those pretty when the rest is so pathetic? It'll just draw more attention.]. They're also very uninviting - fat and warm and rough. I hate to use moisturisers because it just makes everything slippery and sticky.

But if there is ever a time that I believe my hands look beautiful, it is when I have mehendi [henna] on them.

I love mehendi. It cools, soothes and looks beautiful and - at least in my case - stays for 10 days till it wears off. As a child, I used to love to have my whole hands [sometimes right up to the elbow, like a bride] tattooed with this herb paste, even though I was too impatient and would want to have the dried mass off of my skin as soon as possible, to reveal the warm colour beneath. Regardless of how short the duration for which I had the mehendi on, my hands would still colour the darkest of all around me. Someone would say it's because of a loving husband or a doting mother-in-law that I will have in the future, and others would cynically deduce that it was because I had a warm body temperature. I agreed either way, because my hands would blush bright beneath the richness of the mehendi.

Over the years, the love hasn't even faded, even if the mehendi fades with time. My hands still colour the darkest, and despite my growing and constant critique of my hands, I loved them dearly when they were tinted with mehendi. The designs became smaller at one time, and stayed that tiny, because I finally began to see that all the empty space around the designs looked fairer, brighter, lovable and unlike any quality I ever ascribed to it.

And funnily, I'm not the only one in adoration for my hands. My family would constantly kiss my gorgeously coloured palms, and feed me and help me around when the mehendi would still be fresh - disabling me from even lifting a finger for fear of spoiling it. My friends would look at my palms with admiration and envy. My hands drew attention, questions and compliments. With the mehendi on them, my hands took on a life of their own and became a thing of beauty that is always looked at with joy.

This taught me something really important. If I highlighted what I considered my worst features and turned them into assets, they would make heads turn. The beauty that I don't see in myself would be visible to the world. And this gives me a hope and confidence each day that I look at my henna hands. It makes me believe that a fat, average height, average brained and slightly talented girl could have her way in the world once in a while. And if not that, at least I'll have the beauty of my henna hands to get me through.

Saturday, August 3, 2013


"Well, this is new"

"Of course it is. You refused to go anywhere we've been before!"

"And what's wrong with a little wanderlust? It's a rarity in our stage in life."

"Sure. Wander away. Just remember, these curtains aren't as good as the ones in the place we were in during our 10th anniversary"

"I don't agree. Although, I will say that these big glass windows give me the creeps. So much for the peace and calm they advertise."

"Oh, stop being so cynical. We may as well enjoy it here."

"As long as the food is good!"

"Of course it will be. Although I daresay, I would rather cook you a roast for your 50th birthday next week."

"Hmm. I have a feeling that this is where I want to spend my 50th birthday. Not like that old place, with mouldy walls and over-starched bed sheets. It's comfortable here"

"And what makes you think you're celebrating you're birthday anywhere else but at home?"

"Tradition, honey! It's been 20 years since I had a birthday at home. I hardly remember it."

"Add to that our children's birthdays, Matthew's graduation, Amy's first car and our 25th anniversary. The list doesn't end."

"Maybe it does. Maybe this year is the last of all of that. I'm too tired to keep this up. Sometimes I refuse to believe that this is what we've done to our lives."

"Oh, nonsense. I turn 50 in a year and even then, we'll be on the move. And I would rather have this than no life at all."

"Umm, excuse me. It's time for your daily blood work. Can I have you both in your beds please?"

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Connect The Dots

I sometimes wonder, why is it that, after a point in time, we become so used to being detached from things, and people?

As kids, we know that we're connected to everyone around it. It's supposed to be like one big, happy family.

These values seem to get diluted as we learn about the Self, individuality, one being, one entity, independence.This learning comes with age. And though we learn 3-word phrases like "Keep in touch", we also learn "I, Me, Myself" on the other end.

Somehow, the idea of one person being a whole seems to make more sense as we go along. Do we really learn how to attach ourselves so that we know detachment when it stares us in the face?

A part of this may lie in the idea of not being wholly dependent on a being as we become more able thanks to our learning. As we grow into functional beings, we learn to substitute human assistance with personal mechanisms.

At the same time, as we grow older, we have a need to 'stay rooted', get back in touch, cherish bonds - whatever is left of them anyway - and build stronger relationships. It has become easier with social networking and telephonic conversation and even the old fashioned letters in the mix. But if we've started simplifying these social interaction tools, why complicate our childhood learning of togetherness and oneness with adult concepts of detachment and individuality?

I don't essentially mean that we all need to forever remain glued to one another. I won't even begin to hint at a possibility of devaluing the Self. We've come too far trying to give the Self the precedence it has today - it would be a sin to let it all go to waste. What I do mean is this - instead of devaluing the Self, what if we started to give the surroundings a little bit of a boost in terms of importance? Lets face it - we're never going to be able to live alone, work alone, or even exist alone, for that matter. I think we should take whatever little networking we use on a daily basis and channelise that into making more wholesome lives with more love to go around. More the merrier, right?

I've lived in places where everyone gets one another and share their lives when they're together, no matter how much time they spend apart otherwise. I've also lived in places where it becomes so important to hold your own that holding onto what keeps you warm inside is a sign of weakness, or in some extreme cases - not an option. I've never known people to be anything other than connected. If we have a life force that build us, we should be able to trust it to sustain us.

This may seem too cryptic, convoluted, and vague, even. It probably even is, in all honesty. At the end of the day, this is me just spilling my brain onto the computer screen [okay, maybe not that graphically, but you get the idea]. But when you think over it in your own words, your own language and on your own time, you may just see the sense in it.

Or if you're just too lazy right now, let Gotye help you:

"Your heart's a messYou won't admit to itIt makes no senseBut I'm desperate to connectAnd you, you can't live like this"

Right Round

Life has a way of coming back full circle.

One minute you're sitting someplace new, forging bonds over a cup of coffee, with the hope that they'll last a lifetime [at least], and the next minute you find yourself in the same place, which has now become more familiar to you than the bonds you were trying to form and hold on to.

The chair opposite you is empty, but somehow, you're not. There is a promise in the air, not like there was the last time, but a promise that you'll find a new side to yourself, turn over a new leaf, and start afresh - just like you did in that first minute. Cool, eh?

You know what keeps the circle going? Transition.

Everything moves, changes form, changes in definition and finds a different meaning to add to your life. But just because everything you know is largely transient, that doesn't mean you have to learn that everything goes away eventually. It only means that the things worth holding on to are the things that find their way back to you in the end - whatever the form.

Everything that is largely transient DOES come back into your life - full circle.

Sunday, June 30, 2013

Rate This!

Among all the labels I like to give myself, I'm a movie buff, a theatre enthusiast, an avid reader and a food lover. So are a bunch of other people I know, and don't know [yet]. If there is one kind of discussion I both enjoy and detest, it is the idea of discussing reviews and ratings for these forms of art - cinema, theatre, books and food, to be precise.

Now, for those who know me well enough to have heard me blabber on and on about my career choice, I would like to review food and films someday [and films about food, if there are any]. This makes it interesting, because I have a dissonant part of me that does not subscribe to reviews and ratings for things. But when I reject reviews when thrown in my face, I do so not with the intention of rejecting the review itself, but in rejecting the fact that the review is absolute.

Take, for example, a cinematic work. It has X rating points on a movie site, Y.5 stars in a newspaper, and some critic in a magazine decided to wax eloquent about it. Now, these X's and Y's and amazing comments may not all comply, and may definitely not comply with the way I see that work of cinema. Case in point: quite a few of them! Easiest one perhaps is Student Of The Year [SOTY]. Now, I will not proceed to shove it down your throat as to how amazing the movie and the plot and music and everything is - because, chances are, most of you won't buy my logic. But that's the point! My life experiences let me understand the movie differently from the way you do. My emotional response is different from yours. Hence, my rating or review is based on a foundation that you don't have, and vice versa.

Now, apply this to the remaining 3 categories of art that I love [as stated above]. See what I mean?

For those who need more clarity, I'll simply say this: art appreciation is a personal process. Our perception of an artwork is limited to our understanding of things and our knowledge, coupled with experience. If you are in a foul mood and I ask you to review a movie like Enchanted, you will first throw something in my face post movie, and then proceed to talk about how the movie made you feel as you watched it. Anyone can get into technicalities to prove that their view is 'unbiased'. But at the end of the day, even that perception is altered and affected by your personal experiences related to it all.

Therefore, I don't mind you consulting a review before you watch or read or eat something. But what I do heavily object to is taking that review and making it the thought process you follow, before you've seen the product for yourself. I believe in sampling things before I outwardly accept or reject them and I think its a decent philosophy to live by. At least it lets us see more, learn more, experience different things, and finally, live to the fullest.

Sunday, May 12, 2013

-Untitled- [feel free to suggest]

I've dealt with
Versions of You
My whole life.
You who said it can't be done
You who never got up to try.
Whose personal battles were never won
Even when loss was a far cry.

I've dealt with
Versions of You
Day in and day out.
You who sit and criticise,
You who love to scream and shout.
Not one have you said a kind word
Not once have you tried to see what its about.

I've dealt with
Versions of You
That fight against
Versions of Me
Every single day.
You beat my optimism to pulp
It can't be of any use anyway.
You snatched my dreams
and my sleep withal
Said: What's the point of rising
When eventually you must fall?

But there is an impossibility
that keeps me alive each hour
That there will be insurmountable sweetness
To counter a mild sour
There will always be a bright yellow
to contrast a dull blue
And there will always be versions of Me
To deal with versions of You.

Senti at Twenty

As is ritual, I find myself documenting, to an extent, what went on in my head on my birthday. This time, it was my 20th.

It started in the usual fashion, of course, with cake(s) and card and lovely people who stayed up till 12 and beyond on an exam night, and tonnes of phone calls and messages. The next morning, an exam was written. A treat was given in the afternoon, and a whale of a time was had with family at night.

Through all of these modes of celebration, which involved LOADS of cake, it dawned on me that this celebration is much too needed and much too crucial.

The journey from one year to the next is always fraught with fun and frolic, trials and tribulations, happiness and sorrow. But the journey from 19 to 20 was a little tougher than the rest have been so far.

It was a year of change.

I was part of a batch that was senior and junior to a lot of people in college, which meant that there were more friends to make, while there were some special ones who were ready to step off campus, hardly ever to be seen again. I realised that would be me someday.

I hit rock bottom at one stage wherein I couldn't write. It has been almost six months since I wrote, and that was a difficult phase to get out of. It took me apart each day to know that that was not to be the day that I would pick up a pen, or jab keys at a keyboard, to my heart's content, because something creative had struck me. It broke my heart when all I could muster was a flood of tears or a flurry of frustrated reactions to counter that loss of creative energy. I hurt a lot of people in the process, and hurt myself even more. When I look back on that today, I know that it has been an uphill trek up to here, where words are forming themselves as I recall impulses. And it feels amazing, and it is a beautiful gift to know that I can do what I did before, despite the hardships.

I learned a lot of new things, which is the silver lining of my dark cloudy year. I learned that I had finally been able to zero down on a career. I learned that "I trust you" means a great deal more than "I love you". I learned that my shades of grey are ALWAYS going to be different from someone else's mix of black and white. I learned that though I can be content with doing my bit and moving on, there will always be a space for hurt and dejection when its not reciprocated, whether I expect any returns or not. I learned that there is yet much to learn, and that I've done good so far to learn from what has been thrown at me.

There is also a degree of anticipation that has set in, in the process of it all. The "what's next" phase. I want to see what the final year of college will bring me. There are so many places for me to see, some more friends to make and a lot of friends to bid adieu to. I feel like I want to do a lot more with another year added to the existing total. I want to dance more, I want to swim, I want to eat more [hell yes!]. I want to fall in love, I want to do crazy things, I want to see what at date is like. I'd like to write a little more, I'd like to trust a little less [or a little less often], and I'd like to free fall, just to see who'll turn up to catch me. I want to make amends, I want to break free [right?], and I want to be able to keep wanting.

A lot of what I felt last year has resurfaced, renewed by certain experiences [or the lack of them]. And I guess that's all a part of growing up, isn't it? moving forward, while leaving behind the things that inhibit you, and keeping the things that have let you go on so long.

And so, here it is, the end of this post, not just because this is longer than I expected it to be or because of the fear that the person on the other side has possibly dozed off, or left. But because I'm done being senti at twenty. Let the mental-ness begin!