SIGNATURE STANCE

 It's been a long since I wrote something meaningful. Maybe I waited too long. I waited too long for my pen to make the move while in the happy times, but it refused. I don't sincerely know what's with me and moodiness. Not just shallow moodiness, but despair, depression, sadness, those palpitations you get out of being hurt? No? well, that's because not everyone gets it. The loners do I guess - haha :D So, coming back to my point - I think people immediately turn to shoulders they can lean on, cry and soak their tears but never think of a single soul to share their happiness with. Human psychology? I don't know - but going by this conclusion is why I don't scribble anything during my happy times. As if any of this is important! It is! A big blatant truth that I don't have a single friend to share my feelings - happiness or mourning. And if I don't write down what I feel, then how do I read, remember and laugh about those silly moments like 30 or 40 year...

W ords should not be kept for later because they thrive on mood and my mood is nothing less than a pendulum, so I thought I should pen it down. It's not Monday today but I still got the blues. When I say blues, I literally mean the bluish tone in my otherwise curtain-coloured reddish room, along with the pretty melancholic climate. I hate the dark clouds that get clogged in the sky refusing to pour in, but I love when it finally rains. It's like the clouds have vented out their long-held pain. It feels liberating and very refreshing.  I don't quite feel like working in this climate, rather I would be sitting on my terrace, watching the rain, sipping tea (which I am doing even now to avoid falling asleep on my laptop). But the sad truth is I can't go up on my terrace, not at least for the next 2 months, the renovation works are going on and I badly miss the only beautiful, picturesque location in my house. The staircase bricks are cracked to build newer ones and there...

T his started as an Instagram post but I realized I couldn't give away much in a small space, not because it necessarily needs any elaboration but it feels good to give out love. That's what October is all about. One of the most elaborate, unrequited, unconditional love stories topped with tireless acceptance, longing and a bundle of amusement throughout. Like the fragrance of Shiuli - the night jasmine , the film brings out a fresh, unembellished narrative that leaves you in awe from the start, a sheer reminiscence of selfless desire.  Though my mind reached out for Shuili in her helpless state, the thought that kept stirring in my mind was why Dan had to do so much for Shiuli. Why was he so affected by a girl whom he even rarely knew? How did the last 3 words that came out from her mouth become so important to him? I sensed a motive behind, it could have been a strange, nostalgic connection. A past-memory between the two? Something... there should have been a motive and so wh...

Why would you want to play the role that life wants you to play? Why would you be burdened by the desire to be someone else and place yourself in a different context of life? Would you rather give importance to your own story or would you be luring inspiration from someone else's? Having no one to inspire you, having no influence in life, having no role model is not really a hitch, kiddo! And yes, you might not be the only one at the table having a brainwave! Why would you need to look around when you can fuel the inspiration from within? Make yourself the best among the rest. Behold what's around, what's beside, but always be drawn to yourself. If you ask me, my only desire would be to sculpture my self... the only inspiration that entices me is nature, and not any person.  Ask yourself how the ocean does it? Ocean teaches you about the ups and downs, the wavering way of life, the unpredictability. It teaches you about the need to prepare our shafts. It teaches you how to ...

T here's no hope of the smoke settling, even the nights seem blurry and bleak. Peeping my head out of the balcony, I desperately wished for the sight of the shining dust, I wished for magic. For once I thought it was the city lights that kept away the shimmers on the sky, but it wasn't. Nor was it because of the lighthouse lamps. It couldn't at all be the floating lanterns for they appear only once or twice a year. I kept wondering if the stars were under a massic mood swing like me, not wanting to show their face! But how can they stay away from their missy moon for so long?  I couldn't decipher it because it was never visible, it was gradual like slow death. So slow that it skipped our gaze. But now it's obvious, before our eyes, existent and evident. And not us, but the stars had to pay the price, the price of their existence. I am still on the balcony, pondering over a gazillion things, thinking what if I had listened to granny, she had put her heart and soul i...

G lued to this screen, white and black my eyes stuck on lofty ideas to crack Chewing the pencil, and whirling my curls nowhere to look, nothing to see me, this dusty room & my clumsy work. It was a warm day until the wind moved in, the lights went out, the bells clinked but no sign of him, still hesitant to pour in. I swayed forward near the window the only distance I could move without much pain, without my crutches. I could spend hours waiting for him, with a cup of chai & bis-coots in hand because he promised to come with happiness and not sorrow this time. Because he had tested me enough and I stand, well... sit, strong and tough. My pen's been my pillow weirdly soaking up my pain it's no different this time. But I want the rain to come down slow, see me smile and ask me how? Ah.. and then starts the dribbles and ripples and with it my nostalgic scribbles...

What do I write about you?  Should I write about those sweet kisses that throb on my lips? the wandering face that brushes my hair? or those passionate eyes ready to dive into mine?  No, these are just transitory... Maybe I should write about the hiccups that remind me of you, the raw conversations that soak us in, or the moon that lights our dreams. Maybe it's time we realize the blinds of blandishments, escape from the lust and the longing, and route for nothing but belonging. 

Why wouldn't you rather become a doctor, a farmer or a fashionista and profusely give away a potential part of yourself in the escalation of the ever-evolving society! Why not just go for money and fame? Why not just start dancing on the dais rather than pulling the curtains behind? Why would anyone want to be a writer, indeed! Know why? Simply because you don't have a choice. Because your thoughts are in a dire need to be spilled out. Because your voice is craving to reach out. Because there is always a story rattling around in your head. Because you want to seize unpredictability in every jot of ink. Because it's a euphoria that increases your heartbeat and gives you goosebumps. Because you own your own universe and you are the creator of magnificent tales, those that plummet right into the hearts of gazillions. Because although you wish you had been built differently, you quite like to go on this arduous marathon every day. And for me, eventually, it's al...

I am here today, dawdling back on the days, hours, minutes and seconds, that haven’t paused to wait for me to heal, that have drifted past as I remained still in the same place, reminiscing the numbness as I walked out your door. The tangible and the intangible cascade of feelings that I grew out of, explains just how inexplicable it’s always been with you, and always will be. Sometimes, I wonder what went wrong ,  how much of myself I left in you, and in the wake of us. It had never been like a perfect narrative, but it wasn’t all shortcomings and flaws! Trust me, you were the person I wanted to plunge into the future with. To get strange, sad, beautiful and sometimes a little gross. It was never about settling down but more fondly about taking off with you, to new adventures, horizons and life. But now, I no longer want to go back in time and love you harder. I don’t belong in there and this is my knowing that life goes on.  There is more to life than just chasin...

As she stood there stunned and still, she could sense her heart plummeting over the heavy roars of the blood that rose. Her feet felt frozen to the ground and she badly wanted to run away. But she was hooked like a hammered nail, quiet and cold. There was only this one lad, but her eyes witnessed an army of men. She tried to decipher the flicker in his eyes… lust? Hunger? What was it? A heartbeat. And the proximity was dizzying.   Ever been there? Under the street lamp or maybe in the dark corner of a pocket road? Midst a crowded bus or your sweet safe home? The roadside sketching, the sleazy songs, the vague sense of wrongness of the grey haired uncle, and what more to add to the cart replacing the bubble list and the fairy shire dreams of your teens?  The preaching and quotes never stand by in times of the sudden clasp. In a heartbeat you freeze. Be it a 5 year old or a 30 year old, your nerves go numb and you just freeze. And how shameful, we all...

The week has been honestly very dear to me that it was hard to drop in words and tell you how I felt. Would you believe me if I tell you a different dimension roves through my mind as I listen to the evergreen, ever romantic songs from Roja and write you with the infinite strength of passion it carries? Will you ever forgive me for making you gravitate towards me? for making you feel the yearns, the aches and the lust of what we share? Ah ! what is it that we share ?? I don't know.. If you ask me, this started off with a craving to make you mine.. but its beyond the little love I shared. Its beyond the tears I shed. Its beyond the touch of your fingers on my bare skin. Its beyond my assumptions. Beyond my conclusions. Beyond my extensions. Its beyond all cupidity. I do know this. It is an avalanche. And I am just a small ripple in your expanding world. As little do I know how you feel for me.  I do know there would come a time when my pen would slow. When we would part. B...

I have been a vagabond at heart. A heart-felt smile in the fleeting moments, a transient pulse in the unexpected quests and a beating desire in the lazy long walks. I am not defined by an intense experience, hit rock bottom or a shady soul with a wrecked tale. I am never a known face, a name or an idea. I am the storyteller, the dreamer and the drifter. I am the throbbing moment. The thought and the sheer feel of the present. I am unquestionably a muddle of many firsts, floating in the depth of the surf, breathing heavily at the expanse of a mountain, lost on a trodden trail in the woods, laughing hysterically over a glass of wine and wondering amusingly midst a zillion shooting star.

Despite being in immense pain, the young mother still thought about her only child.   The depth of intimacy for her child was immense, unfathomed and ever so subtly conveyed that a mother's love is far greater  that anything in the universe. During the Japan Earthquake, the world sensed the strongest pull of humanity in a young mother who made shield of her body to protect her child amidst the disastrous collapsing. She left a note saying, “If you survive, you must remember that I Love you”. Her body was sputtering, rasping and pitch cold, but her ultimate sacrifice was the protective affection for her little one. It gets me thinking, of all the awful lot of drama, anxiety, anguish and contradictions for the several years. This small thought of appreciation is for you mother… my brilliant, remarkably independent, capable, fierce, gorgeous woman, whose greatest pride is in being my father's wife, and in being my mother. She is such a true character, in every sense of the ...

I find myself penning this post somewhat surprisingly. Maybe because the pain is bigger than ever, May be you just have to drown in it. Something that is unspeakably horrific. The hate that was all powering in its passion. The all-consuming love of lives, a love that seems to have even transcended death. The emotions enticing in its slow dance into midnight. It was getting dark, shady and mournful. But she no longer lamented over the dusk. She was different. She believed in even the possibility of a happy ending. She was strong. Hopeful. Of goodness. Of selfless love. Of a new dawn. She was the radiant smile of joy, one that could have illuminated the sun and the more. She was the Phoenix.

I think it’s not about crossing milestones always, it’s more about the journey. It’s about taking a long deep breath. Sitting down on a bench in a quiet park, bathe in the moment before moving on. Like I always feel I am rushed into something. Almost always. My inner self doesn’t reach me. It seems faint, far and a little distant. I am completely ruled by my apprehensions. Such amazingly strong feelings. Its close proximity.

You know there is always this little scar inside all of us. You are sensible enough to realize it wouldn’t stop with that single scar, but still you crave to keep it. The tiny scar that ships your love. It isn’t weird that you would sound crazy about this. Like you only picture it when you think he should be the one who makes that one long divine kiss of yours true. How it feels to know you are in a crowd until he looks at you. How he moves you and never let you forget your curves, the way he touches you and kisses your fingertips. Alas to let every women in the universe know you are with him. And he is yours. I say it with such conviction because I have felt it, lived with the scar. And never in a billion of the past memories have I felt something like it. And I am way over thinking it. Do I deserve the pain? No. Would it break my heart? Yes. But I just got to do it. You ask me for a reason. There are not many. It is only because my heart chose you. And eventually it has to be you...

The leftover bread pieces are seldom noticed, the way we stare down those little fragments in life. Maybe it’s time, which often is the obvious target of all loosened relations pulling the curtains. Draping the stage it creates a splendid sight, but tell me is that all? Can’t you best this spectacle with what’s hidden beneath? And those buried ones be the reminiscences. The glossy ones that went past with the closing of an eye lash, the puffed cheeks and the stained eyes that held the warmth of the gone by years. There is not much difference now, except for the fact that is the world that we live in now is all about expectations. And it was only lately that we got to know this. And ‘lately’ turned out to be pretty late as the curtains fell in haste. Had it been few months back, you could have spotted us in a corner reading a chick flick, poking each other’s nose, or munching our favourite delicacy hopeless and all alone in our dreamy world. Insanity was our signature, and we...

There would come a time when every other thought, every other worry, all the questions, the rationality and the difference between right and wrong fades into the void.  When you would want to surrender your whole life to this one man and be his until forever. And you don't just bump into someone and immediately know he's right for you. But then it could be you standing in with all the majesty before him, most definitely looking ethereal for you know the pulse… you know it when your breath hitches on grasping that this man is the only one on the entire universe to look at you and claim what’s left of your heart. The butterflies that ramble in your gut as you walk down the aisle, the lilac dome that awaits your footsteps, zillion glances that pass by… Is this the beautiful story you breathed in silence all your life? Probably. The threads of the fictitious tales that we weave don’t bind us in, until they are shared, imagined and turn out to be the embellished beginnings o...

I try my best to avoid it, to shrug off the topic, to sway her away from this every day, every minute reminder of that hopeless junkie. Do I know him? I do not know him but for the loud, screaming picture of him in her head. Such was their beseeching chemistry . I do not know him. But I do know that his antics make everyone laugh to death. Maybe he is like the eerie silence, trying to trap everyone with his intoxicating self.   Maybe he always has an unspoken mischief playing about his lips. But when he talks… that sight definitely would look like a fantasy, oh buoy! No...No... He doesn’t talk. He shouts as loud as a feverish chimp, letting all his panted emotions out through his shriek. He couldn't even be bothered to act cordial when it is just a few… not even in solitude.   And for her, Do I know her? Well… who else does?   And I say that very proudly. Twitching her hair and pushing a loose fringe behind her ears, pursing her lips and rocking back on ...