Db2AAPsW0AA6O3gI see strands of black hair, untamed and wild

Covering the storm hiding in her eyes like a child.

I see black tops and depths

Oozing the oomph off curves and shreds

I see scribbling of black ink

Tearing and trashing in leather bounds to a shrink

I see paints of black

On the nails, veiling the perfect crack

And with blots on the black, touching the eye lines

I summon it all like magic

To engulf me as and when I sigh and breathe it into the black skies as it aligns.


picture courtesy : @archillect on twitter



I was set. Organized, packed and ready to leave.
This was big, bigger than any of my organized to-do list or the long chaotic lanes in my head.
Determined to not draw any conclusion, I rode off as soon as the OTP arrived.
‘Everything happens for a reason, learn to identify the sign and the omen’ – those words sounded so hollow and crappy and took multiple digs at my heart. I never learnt to give up, not until the bait offered was chocolate, coffee, Harry Potter or momos. But this time I had to. I knew I was doing the right thing. I always did the right thing. But each time made me crawl more towards my saturation point.
Nope, it wasn’t hard to deal with. Acceptance, was the word.
Remember that soft hard layer on any wound that gives you the satisfaction as well as the delusion of healing? You can’t judge whether it has healed or is still healing. Taking it at face value, as soon as, you decide to break across the soft hard layer, blood oozes out and you’re back to square one.
I was that wound.  
Sitting, gazing across the still life, I didn’t know whether I was writing the final chapters of my story or whether my character was being signed off from the story. All I knew that each chapter, like feelings was fluttering around me, touching me, assaulting me, caressing me and then disappearing in thin air.
I wanted to hold onto it. I was desperate to hold onto it. The right thing was letting it go.
The meter stopped blinking. I could feel the impatience while exchanging the change. I wanted time goddamit. This was my cheap shot at it.
The Airport was buzzing with happy and neutral faces carrying on with boarding, luggage, airport fashion or just goodbyes with tears and snort. I had to do the same.
Weirdo, as a middle name was embedded to me, the time I drew a friend from a city and fell for it multiple times.
How do you say goodbye to a city? Ask for a hug or a kiss maybe?
Contemplating all this within the chaotic lanes of my head, I was sorted on one aspect – I fucking hated Airports.



IMG_20150521_145023Is there a manual to know what is right and what is wrong and why wrong feels right most of the times and right just pinches and makes you bleed but then doing the right thing gives you satisfaction and ditching the wrong takes you away from the high you’ve been craving all along and yet then you feel maybe there isn’t any right or wrong just stupid myths that your parents infested your brains with like those white lies like the Existence of God and the shrewdness of the Satan so that you would behave like them when they were kids and they would know how to deal with you when you turn up with a problem to them because for them it would be a textbook problem just with different numbers?

What if Satan isn’t really that bad just twisted because maybe his girlfriend/boyfriend left him to fulfill some big ambitions? Or maybe Satan was just a lazy ass tired of people nagging and judging him. Maybe he was just a teenager with empty brains and nothing better to do!

Or maybe God is just really nerdy kid with ordinary life and no extraordinary problems which gets him brownie points and so parents love him because he ain’t weird? Nope I don’t dislike him and turn to him most of the times when my CA results are around but still ain’t he way too normal?

But don’t society crave for weird and twisted souls to appreciate some vague parallel universe in the name of creativity but yet those are just some big spelling names with really basic meaning?

So, parents want textbook kids but society wants out of textbook kid.

But then who decides the syllabus? The previous generations? So this means we are running in loops with the old generation ideology and big spelling infested words packaging.

But this still doesn’t answer my question of how do I know what is right and wrong because I don’t think even old generations have the manual. So what should I do, be right and bleed with pride and righteous or do wrong be high?!

I guess I’ll just eat chocolate and watch Harry Potter and then sleep.




PhotoGrid_1509431264049I look into those eyes, they don’t stay still.

A lot of doubts have a home there. Just like my mind.

Right or wrong, comfort or struggle, acceptance or freedom – the list is endless.

We both look in the mirror and smile at the familiar persons we know.

‘Would we be fine together?’


‘What if we are not?’

‘Well you could always run away right!? those eyes mused.’

‘But why should I run?’ ‘Ain’t I the one adopting?’ I ask the other starry pair of eyes.

‘Are you really?’ asked the smirky face.

‘Maybe it’s just the other way round!’, those big round eyes glimmeringly concluded.

We both smile at more than one being we know now in the mirror!

I paid the amount, left the change and got adopted!


PhotoGrid_1488694261267Do tea stains on the desk talk to you

Or maybe the blinking lights?

Do they’ve a voice

Or are these just some noise?

Did crumbled clothes form words

A language maybe of their own?

Did you understand the mist on the mirror

Or was it just a vapor tone?

Does the silence of a room sooth you

Or does it scream in your ears?

Like the faded droplets of ink

Can you feel it’s shrills and fears?

I do notice the pattern

And listen to the voice.

If this makes sense to you

Did you connect to my inner noise?!

Midnight Miseries

Can’t write. Can’t sleep. Can’t wake up.
The illusion of righteousness when awake.
The next moment of disappointment that follows.
Feet takes me to the food cooling hollows.
The heart is waiting to be delighted.
Brain sighs ready to be refuted.
Eyes search for happiness. Tummy awaits calories. Bum just wants to sit.
But why can’t they see? Why aren’t the specs on? Eyes look down to nose ridge.
Nose is bored and greezy. ‘I don’t care missy!’ it cringed.
Legs are sleepy and pretend to be drunk.
Gets us bumped into hard chunk.
Everyone’s annoyed and accuses the Eyes
‘Shut the fuck up’ the Skin sighs.
By then we’re already back to the bed.
‘Chuck it!’ everyone said.
‘Can’t write, can’t sleep, can’t wake up’, I sleepily declared.

Ek kamare ka makaan

PhotoGrid_1485322392446Jawani k din the

roti kapda aur makaan se koso dur tak pochne ki umeede the

gadi, bangla, bank balance sab kuch chaiye tha

bas unhi dino ki baat hai ye..

Ek sapna dekha tha…ek bada aalishaan ghar mujhe banana tha

Manzil ka rasta khafi lamba tha…par hosla bhi kuch kam naa tha !

Kahi se toh shuruwat karni thi

Socha…ek kamare ka makaan hi kyun nai?


Makaan kharid toh lia par

Ghar wali baat thi nai !

Ghar jo banaye…who thi gharwali

Mere ek kamare k makaan ko…apne sapno se sajane wali.

Zindagi thi aasaan…santusht hona chaiye tha

Naukari, ghar aur biwi…ka hi toh zamana tha.


Raat thi…par neend nai

Paisa tha..par chain nai

haaye yeh jawani k din…kuch kar gusarne ka junoon tha

Aalishaan ghar ka joh sapna dekha tha…ab usse pura karna tha.

Zindagi badti rahi..kabhi thami nai

Gharwali aai…bacche bhi lai wahi.

Par sapna pura karna tha

aalishaan ghar ka rasta dudna tha.


Ek kamare se hue do kamare.

ek mein hum aur dusre mein bacche.

bhaade par hi sahi..ek kamare se toh bada tha

aalishaan ghar…ab toh jaise pass mein hi tha.

waqt badla…hum badle

zindagi toh chalti rahi…par zamane badalte rahe !


Mahangai bad chad kar bol rahi thi

bhaade ka ghar kharidne mein dikat ho rahi thi.

chota hi sahi…ek kamare ka ghar apna tha

aalishaan ghar ab bas sapno ka hi tha !

bacche bade hue…nikal padhe apne sapno k piche

reh gaye hum…apne budhaape toh sametate.

Gharwali k baal…safedi ki cham-chamahat thi

Buland chaal humari…ab ek lathi ki mohtaaj thi.


Aalishaan ghar ka sapna abhi bhi aakhen dekti thi

kaash..pura kar pate..chaah abhi bhi hoti thi.

zindagi badti rahi…apni gati se chalti rahi

gharwali toh chal basi…bas ab baari humari rahi.


Ek kamare ka makaan aajkal bada yaad aata hai

aspataal ka ward bhi yahi yaad dilata hai.

jiwan ka pahiya hai…ghum kar vahi aa jata hai

aalishaan makaan ki daur mein

ek kamare ka makaan hi bas reh jata hai !