Sunday, 22 October 2017


This time, when I choose the colour of my note,
The note I love to scribble down-
The note that escapes getting damp all the time I pour down my thoughts on it-
I prefer to choose grey.
The mix of black and white
The colours of yesterday
Where things were either good or bad
And you did either right or wrong
And you either laughed or cried.
I have gone allergic to colours-
The hues that combine complex shades
And deceive your vision
And confuse you with half comprehension-
That you stand perplexed
Lost within the choice
Amidst too many colours...
I hope we moved back
To black and white.


Sneeking through curtains, laughing loud, the sunshine of her life.

Friday, 20 October 2017

Cul-de-sac #26

Rohan's study room.
10 pm.
Tears rolled down his cheeks as his parents took turns to chisel down his math paper.
His wet pillow lulled him deep into a cul-de-sac, wondering why undiagnosed dyslexia never deserved sympathy.


Months soaked in persistence
And days drenched in isolation-
To end in three hours of sheer excellence.
This time, sweat looked beautiful.


The spark that ignited; turned damp on boundaries.

Tuesday, 17 October 2017

Diwali Eve..

As we celebrate the victory-
Yes the victory of good over evil;
Bursting crackers on the eve of Diwali...
Spreading sparkling colours of joy on the dark night sky
And shouting aloud with frenzy...
Far away...
Do we hear that silenced voice?
The sobs that were too afraid to emerge?
Those shrieks that only this night sky heard-
And those million unheard clamors within each girl that she hushes away-
Again and again-
At the bus stand, train, park, pathway
Roadside, market, mall and what more-
The confines of her so called home?
Yet, we celebrate the obsolete triumph of women power...
The day these muted cries gain their echos';
Mind you,
No Diwali would look beautiful.

Monday, 16 October 2017

Spoon #22

I saw them on the table-
Those round doses of happiness;
Glitzening white with wickedness-
Dripping the sugar syrup that
Oozed with sweet mischief.

I dropped my spoons-
Grabbing a mouthful; saying
Rasgullas are supposed to gulped;
Not to be savoured with cutlery.


When your last try fails and the final efforts flop
And your favourite castle falls down; like an enchanting pack of cards,
And you mock your ideals and the age-long doctrines
And view everything with an unmatched cynicism
Smiling off with sarcasm all those lectures on fairness-
And run relentlessly to your last resort-
An overdose of solitude and the respite within those four walls-
Wait a second, breathe and remind yourself-
This was not what you were born for…

Sunday, 15 October 2017


"His condition is very critical. Let's hope for the best."
The doctor said, with an expression least expressive of hope.
"Mom. Look. Isn't that a shooting star?"
She gazed outside the window, clinging hard on the last thing that indicated hope.


Ask me a wishlist
And I would say
Without batting an eyelid
To snatch that time turner from Hermione,
And no, not to go back to Hogwarts
I'll go further back
To an era
Of magic, maya and maiya.
A time when someone
Came to our rescue
On that rainy day,
As a thunder-
Lifting our faith and spirits
Along with that mountain,
An umbrella shielding us not just from nature,
But our uncertainties as well.

Saturday, 14 October 2017

Drive #20

When a million flattering voices make your heart swell and your cheeks blush pink with pride,
Listen to that one voice that drives you crazy with truth, that one genuine voice worth dying for.

Rice #19

It was a perfect combination.
Rainy day, open window and a six piece pizza all for himself.
As he closed his eyes to relish a bite, he saw a mother feeding a handful of rice with a dollop of ghee
to a tiny kid that refused to eat.
Somewhere, something splashed a dash of incompleteness to his favourite day.

Slake+window (8 word story)

No window shopping could slake her hoarding impulse.

Burn #fiction #imagination running wild

I burn within,
As you walk away with sheer nonchalance,
Stamping ruthlessly on my shattered pack of cards...
Those fragments of red and black
And diamonds and hearts
Pitifully stare at me-
As king and queen and ace and spade-
Heave a sober sigh of helplessness...
As you cross the final bend,
Spreading a blurred image
Smudged and dim-
I close my eyes and
Exhale a million smashed dreams
For one last time.

Only thing#18

Only thing that is more fulfilling than writing for me is to witness my thoughts gain wings to fly...

Thursday, 12 October 2017


Amidst a bunch of wanderlust minds-
And the glitz and glisten of sparkling lights-
In the happening city of sleepless nights-
A lazy room with a cosy bed had a heart that pined for one more snooze...

Friday, 6 October 2017


I see them everyday, those dustbins-
Cornered by life-
Accepting everything
With the same indifference.
Unspoken words, crushed flowers, withered clothes, rotten sweets
And remnants of yesterday's dinner-
Sans complaints sans that ubiquitous urge-
To rush to the limelight.
Only to empty to nothingness
And start afresh the next day.

Monday, 2 October 2017

Truth #16

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty."
The teacher wrote on the blackboard.
"Ma'am what's that scar on your hand?"
"Ah. That's nothing dear." She said, stretching down her sleeves, masking her bruise as Kumkum.
Perhaps Keats was unaware of the art of crafting beautiful lies.

Saturday, 30 September 2017

Shop #15

After the tiring shopping spree, she finally managed to stealthily place the basket of goodies at her maid's doorstep. Executing a meaningful surprise was her version of Dussehra.

Friday, 29 September 2017


Battling his tears, he signed the papers with trembling hands.
His heart skipped a beat, as the vehicle moved ahead, killing his dream forever.
Kilometers away, in the laughter of a school kid, his sweet heart sprang to life again.

Thursday, 28 September 2017


"For the Himalayan trip? All alone?"
She smiled at those raised eyebrows and nodded.
And she set off with her backpack, joining the rally with those who refused to wear gender on the sleeves.

Tuesday, 26 September 2017


"No...I think we can see it this way..." She started.
"Hold on...I have a better idea." He interrupted.
And she waited for her turn, swallowing her words and a part of herself.


"Come on, shake a leg"
The crowd roared in frenzy.
18 missed calls.
Drowned in the loud beats, a call from home was the last thing he wanted.


That day, I ran back home.
Not to the aroma of coffee or the warmth of cuddling hands.
But to a sea of visitors gathered near my grandma.

Saturday, 23 September 2017

Come back!!!

Millennia ago,
Yasoda warned...
"You're not going now!!!"
Pointing to Yamuna,
"It's dangerous, child!
You'll dread at the wild!
Thieves will threaten you
And night may frighten you..."

Beaming with a playful smile,
Kanha said, "They'll run for their life, Ma"
"And dusk would bow at my darkness."
As Kanha hopped away,
Yasoda sat at the doorstep,
Fingers crossed with an unknown fear.

2017. 6.00 pm.
"You're not going out to play"
An angry Rahul gave a scoff
And hopped on to his couch potato mode.
Nita sighed, disturbed at her son's obedience, worried with her own words.

Beasts reincarnated as social evil
And danger as fellow men...
As wolves of prey bounce with those hungry claws...
Pepper sprays and knives
Replace crayons and colour pencils...
Hope Kanha comes back
As fierce eyes glowing with fire
Making deadliest of beasts,
Shudder with fear.

Wednesday, 6 September 2017

Octopus Diaries

From the page that accidentally fell off from the golden book...

Dear Coward,

I'm sorry you fail...
You miserably fail to realise
That you actually lost...
And that ugly scorn on your face
That emits dominance
Is but futile...
I pity the instinct in you that preaches cruelty...
Dear inhabitant,
Do you realize that the fear in you is breeding your cruelty?
Ah! Now that wry smirk on the mention of fear!!
Pathetic that you fail to realise that you killed because you feared...
You feared the voice-
And the dormant surge within.
The wave that you thought would drown you.
But do you hear the sirens of silence?
The silence that you seek to create
The silence that your comrades say, is your mission...
The mighty silence that's  prepared to echo louder!
And I doubt your preparedness for its intensity.
Fellow dweller,
Be prepared
The trumpets of tomorrow blow high-
You may remain and all of us may have left,
But the silence that you run for
Will haunt you...
And I'm sorry
Will kill you.

From the Octopus that has outlived the earth.

Saturday, 5 August 2017

A Lost Monsoon

The "new" sheds its charm
Amateurish and incomplete
And stoops down-
As if in defeat-
To the peerless grace and completeness
Of what was-
Of the beauty in cracked walls and leaking roofs
And wrinkled hands and damp floors-
Of an old rain that was a unique contrast;
Days when the droplets poured into our hearts
And a warmth spread in our souls-
As if proving to be a visual oxymoron-

Today, the rain sends chills down the spine;
Forming a frozen void within,
Searching in vain,
For that lost solace,
The cuddling hands
And that serene face
That are now stiff and pale
And numb and cold-
Indifferent and invisible
With tears burnt
And emotions buried-
Dissolved in the monsoon.

Wednesday, 10 May 2017

Morning rains

These morning rains
Remind me
Of musings
I once thought and forgot;

The moist earth
Hits the Rewind
And replays the things
I once smelt and felt...

Tiny water droplets
Give away to the breeze
Transforming their state
With cold and absolute ease...

Courtyards that flaunted intricate patterns yesterday
Now hold obscured kolams-
Struggling to retain their skeletal forms-
As they reluctantly disassociate
From their connecting dots.

As little canvas shoes trot on
The wet roads
Swept clean by the overnight downpour;
I see myself in the tiny kid
That whines at the school bus
And sighs at his heavy bag.

The shoulders didn't know.
The baggage has just started.

Wednesday, 8 March 2017

Women's Day

The alarm that never snoozes
Alarms at the hullabaloo
On the day
Earmarked for its mistress.

The newspaper winks
And flaunts the glossy cover page
Even as it gulps down the fearful bulletins
Within its innermost columns.

Hashtags preaching boldness and change
Flood the virtual world
Drowning the million disturbing voices
Beneath its surge.

And finally, as “she” braves the stares
And defies the norms
And knocks down the hundred question marks
A raised eyebrow wishes her;
“Happy Women’s Day”.

Wednesday, 22 February 2017

The adaptation anomaly

Sometimes it just creeps in

The adaptation anomaly-
Those “literally-fed-up-with-all-this” moments
When we simply cannot sync with the ambience-
And grow sick of all the complications in the air-
And wonder if the nomenclature of those around
Be reworked as “sophisticated machinery”…
When we forgot the last time we interacted with people-
Real, simple ones sans adjectives-
And that’s when we involuntarily move the curtains of our dusty window
To catch a glimpse of a view that we already knew by heart-
But this day, that view has got a different shade-
As if each thing outside the window-
Is finally letting out a story that it held back for so long-
Stories told in a language comprehensible at these exceptional moments alone…
And then when we come back to our (in) sanity-
The bustle looks meaningful for the first time
And it suddenly dawns upon us-
That each of these machinery has a unique story for itself-
That makes them apparently so dense-so complex-
Humans, at last.
Certain exceptions are beautiful in a way that they deviate us to new spheres altogether...
Things that we would never have explored but for this strange incompatibility…


Monday, 6 February 2017

The balance.

For her,
They were rare visitors…
Those transient feel-good moments.
The moments that slowly engulfed part of herself…
The coffee mug steaming with caffeine,
The morning sunshine,
And the brisk rustle of a fresh newspaper.

Amused at the sudden and unexpected interstice in her otherwise jam packed schedule, she sat down on the balcony and took a long sip of her coffee; as if to savor to the highest altitude, a forgotten delicacy.

Laying the newspaper aside, she stared at the sun peeping through the leaves of the jamun tree. The leaves that were once very familiar to her, looked strange and outlandish. She let the warmth of the rays fall on her face and closed her eyes to relish the ephemeral experience.

“Can’t you see that I’m yet to submit my thesis? I have just started… ”
“But, beta, you have to accept certain norms of the society…You know how much…………..”
She didn’t feel the need to lend her eyes to the rest of the conversation.
She already knew it by heart.
Her earlobes pounded with acquaintance at the religiously repeated epithets.
But she knew that this day was different.
She knew that today she had to give an answer; however much she tried to resist.
And in the consolidated list of things that she couldn’t do, she never forgot to note down her reluctance to say “No”.

She went into her study, with an urge to find solace in her diary. Those pages were ready to embrace the stained ink. Though they appeared to loathe it, they secretly looked forward to those days. They somehow felt the confluence of tears and ink made them look beautiful.

Today, I’m eccentrically striking off my unfulfilled wish list;
Without a tinge of respect to the soul that cherished them.
I knock off each fear that creeps in
And brush aside all the ifs and buts and what ifs
I’m populating my mind with the courage
To emotionally prepare myself-
For the deluge that is-
For a lifelong battle with my soul.

So that I could struggle with myself with grace and elan
And customize a new self
And to justify to myself why everyone is right
And why this decision is right
And convince myself of all the pros and dump the cons
And let go off surprisingly with absolute ease
All the dreams that I lived upon…
Forget once for all, the person I strived to be,
And fake a smile, and build a plastic heart.

I do not know where this leads me
May be another uncertainty
By the time I finish dumping my real self
May be I’ll know that all these efforts have gone with the wind.
All in vain.

And I may try to put back to place; the pieces of my old self
And try to slowly shatter this new wax statue…
But where do I dispose off this customized version of mine?
Their remnants will still lurk within me
And occupy the vacant spaces where my original self has got creased off
And it'll all be a mess
The new dreams and old dreams
The two versions of myself
Fake "me" and the real "me"
And they’ll fight
None will succeed
They’ll keep fighting relentlessly…
Will I be able to strike a balance?

She opened her eyes with a jerk.
Her heart was still throbbing with the impact of the shudder.
“What happened?”
“I cannot find my Maths homework notebook...”
“It’s in your second drawer. Wait. I’m coming. ”

The sun kept peeping through the leaves. And the unfinished coffee. And the folded newspaper. The rays of sunshine tried hard to catch a glimpse of her through the window curtains, envying at the way she seamlessly juggled her persona.

Saturday, 4 February 2017


Knight smirked;
"Oops" said the proud father.
Lost the game; won the Queen.

Saturday, 28 January 2017


"Share the things you like", he remarked; apportioning the chocolate cake.
Years later, she taught him how to share and like on facebook.


"Excuse me?"
The woman with salt and pepper hair uttered mechanically as she bumped into the boy next door...
"Hey Aunty! Didn't recognise me? "
She couldn't figure out a reply.
She wondered if they had met or missed each other for ages now.



You dribble through my soul,
Warming my heart;
Washing off the little stains with those brown addictive drops
As if to wipe the canvas clean for the day...

Sunday, 15 January 2017

The train

Monday morning
As the train shunts forward
I startle with a jerk within myself
And I wave;
At those eyes
That woke up too early
And those hands that packed affection in my tiffin...
As the blurred image gradually diminishes from my sight...
My eyes eagerly search in vain;
As if to retrieve the remnants of my soul...
Feeling incomplete;
I start waiting for Friday;
To go back
And get encompassed
Within those beautiful walls of familiarity...
Of reprimanding
Of quarrels
Of belongingness
Of life real;
Of the truth called Home.

Wednesday, 11 January 2017


"I want to fly!"
The little one exclaimed, looking at the aeroplane soaring high...
Her crutches frowned;
The destiny that paralysed her limbs couldn't buckle her wings...


"I envy her luck..."
She eavesdropped her own testimonial.
Meanwhile, she recalled a different story.
A story of wet pillows, smudged mascaras and crushed papers beneath her study.

At the signal#3

"Madam, flowers?"
A thin hand extended a jasmine string through the car window at the traffic signal.
"Roll the glass down".
Two pairs of eyes battled the saline fluid.

The Resolution#2

Second day of the year;
As she snoozed the alarm again;
The sticky on the wall winked
At the pendulum that swung sheepishly.

Tuesday, 3 January 2017

New Year 2017#1

This year, I'll not fake a smile.
"Say cheese" said the selfie expert.
And Instagram gulped another perfect shot.

A Simple Message...

A Simple Message...