Monday, November 18, 2013


It took a while
but he did well
he got in and you let him.

He taught your mind
your heart
and your body
to stay put.
Around him.
Or was it all you?

And now you have to unlearn him.

Unlearn his words
his touch
his smell
and his kisses.

Ripping yourself into pieces
or waging a war
or dipping yourself into fire
All of it seems relatively easier.

Friday, October 11, 2013

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Only so much.

           Somewhere in the battle between false alarms of the heart and reality checks of the mind, you tend to forget what love is supposed to feel like.
When love seemed to barely exist, we didn't let the boat sail through the storm. Only to know that we'd never have the chance to unchain it from the shore.
How conveniently we placed the unrequited love on top of the line against the likes of love which could save us from all the pain and drama.
You grew to think of the love you never got, as the love you must have. That it would be your only shot at happiness.

           Then began the constant struggle to relight the fire, rekindle the spark. To change anything and everything to make it happen because to you, you were just right for him.Consequently came a point where you were out of matches and this only brought a calmer sea in your head.
This is when slowly the memories stopped shaking your core. Gradually your heart grew stronger. This time all by itself. Your hand stopped aching to be held and you stopped tracing back to him in every breathing thought. You realized memories are just that. You began to forget the bitter details even so the sweet ones. You stopped blaming him for breaking you and you know now that it was the only healthy thing to do. You forgave him.
You still love him but not like you used to and your frenzied, obsessive ways have been tamed. Thank god for that.You began to recollect the mistakes you've made far better that the ones he did. Then you forgave yourself.

         The bell jar above your head and heart dissolved, you accepted things with more humility than grief. You took the biggest needle and burst the bubble you once found comfort in. It's a story that is taking time to fade in your mind but you know it'll be fine.

         Relationship hopping was my thing until I met you.You changed that and you changed me. It took a while to get here, to see I wasn’t the same perry in your eyes anymore.Love after love drained the romance out of me. Innocence had left the building leaving a few traces here and there. Maybe it is true, maybe you really have to lose everything to start afresh.
You stopped me from going over the edge and turning again into the emotional monster I once was.

         At the end of all this I know we were two people who saw the best and worst in each other. Who once built their lives around each other. Two solid,good people but only their balance wasn't right. The timing wasn't great and the ropes loosened up at different times. I finally learned that there's only so much you can do to unlock a once closed heart.

Sunday, July 28, 2013

For days with zero motivation to look at the brighter side. 

Thursday, July 11, 2013


You become like the five people you spend the most time with. Choose carefully.

I came across this quote today.
 If it were to be true, I would be creative, mature and ambitious. Well, at times i'd be lost as to where I'm going but then I'd steer back. I wouldn't mind being stubborn if it gets something done, for someone's good. I'd be cribbing at one moment and contradict my statement at the other. All because I've seen the storms to know that it'll go away.  I'd have a contagious laugh and would laugh at all of my best friends jokes because come on, she's hilarious. I'd love her in ways she wouldn't know. Always protective and always supportive. no judgments, no expectations.

I would be stylish, friendly and impulsive. I'd love to party but I'd hate alcohol to the bits. I'd love food like it's my job. I'd make over the top plans when I'm high. I'd have an unforgettable personality. I'd hold my friend when she's crying and love her without saying it. I'd be grounded and take each day as it comes with my warm smile.

I would be pretty but never admit it, intelligent and hardworking.I'd accept what life throws at me like a mature adult. I'd even accept death and loss like one. I'd be sensitive at times but I'll smile in the next minute. I'd also love my sibling unconditionally with all her flaws. 

I would fail at making any conversation sound boring, embrace the changes in my life with an envious calm and be strong hearted. I would be aware of the coolest things. I'd never let my success get to my head. I'd also forgive continuously but not necessarily eloquently. I'd be a person of details. I'd always look before I leapt. And look some more. I'd love to travel and find beauty in simplest of things. I'd be honest and straightforward, to the core.

I would be brotherly and unbrotherly. I'd tell a girl she's pretty and that she has a moustache. I'd always be there, always talk like a realist but i'd also break down if my lover said anything hurtful. I'd always find ways to go back to her because I'd believe that I could get this right only once. 

I don't know if this is true but if it were, how can I be anything short of awesome? 
I'm only grateful to know my super five. (cannot think of a cool name)

Tuesday, June 18, 2013


Today's inspiration came from

"Use what talent you possess: the woods would be very silent if no birds sang except those that sang best." Henry Van Dyke

So here's a little note from my phone which wouldnt have made it to

the blog due to excessive self criticism:

As i sit in a cozy brown seat, only beauty passes me by.
The lime green of the trees is better than my similarly coloured shoes.
The constant game of the waterfalls is better than any I've seen in a while.
Ofcourse the big fish eats the smaller one but it all ends in perfect harmony, I'm sure.
Endless raindrops pattern my window.Sometimes in a sublime,perfectly aligned pattern and sometimes in a muddy,frenzied one.
The trees play with my mind as they lean in to greet my train and I'm almost decide that I've not felt this welcome in a while. 
My sister's head rests on my arm as we silently look out of the window.
This silence, has been hard to find.

Listening to some good music, sipping on some surprisingly good coffee and eating jam rolls with her, as we watched and gasped at the sheer beauty of nature, I could say I had a good day.

Thursday, May 23, 2013

Then there are days when you're out of your depth and staring at the window for a new post starts getting painful.
Not painful really, just unnatural. I'm at it since almost 8 and it's been 3 hours.
I watched amour, listened to some music and then watched friends with benefits. JUST BECAUSE IT WAS ON TV AND I HAD NOTHING TO WATCH WHILE DRINKING TEA. 
Point being, I had all the inspiration to write(friends with benefits not being on the list) and way too many thoughts piled up.
I just can't find the right filter for the ideas or the apt words.
I have no clue why am I even posting this gibberish but then I had to write. I just had to and this is NOT getting backspaced.

Thursday, May 2, 2013

House warming.

A new house, a new job and a new city. This is all you wanted, to leave the trainwreck behind. The walls are painted in blue, your favourite colour and it couldnt get any better. You take out your newly purchased coffee machine. You bought it this morning,finally. Your new fascination point it will be. You waste over 10 minutes with the bubblewrap thinking, it's probably a sign, to let the child in you finally come to life. Dancing your way to the new yellow tiled kitchen, you plug in the toaster, the microwave and the fridge. Taking little steps, alone this time. Probably for the best, your thought once again.

mmm nothing like freshly made coffee. You devour the bitter aftertaste, similar to the one that she left in your mouth. Not her, not again. You look at the dull boxes that have positioned themselves all over the new house.Counting them would be a good idea and so you go on 1,2,3 .. and you wonder how they fit your world in just 9 boxes. 9, that's the last digit of her phone number. No, stop. The sun is too harsh in this town and you definitely need curtains. Unlike your old hell where you never really thought of windows until she discovered one lucky window to let out the smoke. It suffocated her she claimed, why wasn't she dead already. You wanted her to die, a slow painful death and hear her scream out your name. Only yours, not his, nobody else'. Then you'd be the hero again, the one who saved her. She always needed saving, I'd like to have a pizza, the bag is too heavy, the zipper is a scum, the world is a scam, this house is a living hell, these pants just dont look right, I hate my hair, I'm too depressed:look at me!, my world is full of nothing but problems. Your  little victory jar that kept filling with each time you made it okay only to make her say what would she possibly do without you. Then the jar got too heavy, the perfect words got too difficult to fetch and the nails she dug into your heart got too painful to endure. I hate her.

Box number 1, tagged as clothes but opens up with books. Always messing the tags, I shouldn't have tipped them so well. The imbecile never understood your love for books, said you're on a flight that is too far from reality. Like she'd know, the alcoholic is going to tell you what's real. 

Box number 2. Cushions. A box full of cushions, when the hell did that happen? Oh her backaches. Annoying little screeches coupled with 'my back is dead today, pass over some cushions will you?' Buying cushions made that weirdo so happy and now you have a box full of oddly shaped, too rested cushions. 

Box number3. Clothes. Probably the lightest box around. Her rights and wrongs on clothing never really let you buy much clothes. Whatever that there was, half was hers already. You wonder if she'd be wearing the shirt which she shamelessly claimed as her own one night. The colour looked good on her, her skin tone really brought out the purple she said. Even though you scoffed each time she said that, you knew it did. You look for her smell, if it's still there on your clothes. Obsessed with smelling good, that should go on her gravestone. Berries, fresh flowers and the salty musky scent of her skin. It drove you crazy. Each time she'd spray it on you'd leave the house 5 minutes too late. Fill your head with her scent and a smile would be plastered on your face the entire day. Enough. 

Box number 4. Utensils. There were knives, little glass jars, pans,pots. Too much equipment you'd gladly murder him or her with. 

Box number 5. Shoes. You neatly stack them, your lovelies she called them. How can you love shoes so much? What you couldnt explain to her was the rush. The rush each new pair gave you. Twenty browns, ten blacks and numerous running shoes. The twitchy feeling in your toes when you'd walk in a new pair. Like a troubled kid, they would get tamed with time. You like fixing things. Always been your favourite right? What were these pink duck print socks doing in your favourite running shoes?

You're getting warm, the sinking feeling is getting too much. You need fresh air, at the wine shop is where you find it. Two bottles. Number one is half dead already. Taking a large sip, you sit down near box number 6.

6. Has frames, the drill box and other hardware equipment. You look around and make a mental picture of which frame goes where. The frame with your family picture in it needs some gluing. She dropped it one day and placed it exactly where it was. Not a glimpse of apology or guilt in those eyes. Maybe she still believes your never watched this little show of hers.

Box seven. Miscellaneous. Books, some cutlery, two t shirts, stationery,  an envelope. The envelope. Full of the little things she wrote to you. 'Will be late' post its, your birthday poem, I love you's in her annoying handwriting, the unfinished short stories which were more often put to a halt by your carnal wants. Something about watching her write was always irresistible. Sitting with her legs cross folded on your bed, hair tied in a loose bun, her eyes concentrating too hard, the faint smile on her lips, her slender fingers moving in a rhythm- how could you not love this sight.

Box number 8. Black plastic liner wrapping the bedding. This wont do, it's for two. Maybe you'll throw this one and buy a new one suitable for the single bed.

Number 9. Empty. Filled with the obvious.

You had whiskey for lunch and dinner. Amusing.
Walking into the kitchen, you pick up the new coffee maker and with shaky hands, place it in box number nine.

Monday, April 22, 2013

Dear Baby, I hope someday, somebody wants to hold you for 20 minutes straight and that’s all they do. They don’t pull away. They don’t look at your face. They don’t try to kiss you. All they do is wrap you up in their arms and hold on tight, without an ounce of selfishness to it.” 

This quote=Yes please. 

Monday, March 4, 2013

My happy pill.

If you want something and if it has to happen, no matter what goes wrong, it'll find you eventually. 
Well it did happen when I saw her, on the stage, being brilliant as ever. 
I was so bummed about not going to uk and had no hopes of watching her perform. everrrrr! 
and then it happened. One fine day my younger sister wakes me up from my nap, shakes me and tells me norah jones is coming to mumbai! My first thought? Vibha needs to know!
From that day to yesterday and to today, it has been a journey. We were excited like one of us was getting married (like Vibha's teacher rightly said) and well.. sipping on some beer, watching some good bands put up outstanding performances, waiting for NJ and some more waiting, holding vibha's hand when she walked on to the stage, hearing her, watching her and singing along to her transcending music is one of the best things that has happened to me, so far. 

Sunday, February 24, 2013

I have consumed you.

You know I have. I tried reaching where nobody was let in and maybe I lost. I know I still cross your mind. I know. As high as our walls are for each other, we have something which will stay with us, consumed forever. A part which wont return to us again. Only for you and I to keep. I'm happy, yes. Goodbye.

Monday, February 11, 2013

Murakami, You drive me crazy.

It's weird how this man can bake a happy delicious cake in my heart and then destroy it by building a tornado. If you are what you read was to be true then I'm dead. I'm living in some street in Japan. Eating without gaining weight. Have beautiful big eyes and pin straight hair. And I can talk to cats. Or am very calm about the weirdest of things happening around me.
In another context, I think I've reached my homeostasis. Or atleast am in the right direction. :)
It's funny how you don't want any of your past experiences attached to you future ones and yet expect new people you meet, to behave in a certain way. Ironically, I say this after messing up things with a really nice person I met.Damn you impulses!