Some days I feel like a collection of shards of glass,

That anyone who gets close to me will invariably get hurt.

Ever seen something shattered so many times that it loses all hope of ever being put together, again.

Like a puzzle having millions of tiny pieces, some broken, and some lost.

I lay awake at night, for hours.

Hoping. Waiting.

For answers of those questions that I don’t know.

Times when I wish that the night never ends,

Because there is no light, neither at the end of the tunnel nor is tomorrow a new start.

They say that there is no measure to how much love a heart can hold,

And definitely none to see how much pain it can withstand,

Heard of the broken heart syndrome?

That is the thing with people, they hurt, crush, break you.

And you let them do it, willingly, knowingly.

It’s time to build the wall back, brick by brick, betrayal after betrayal.


First Love

IMG-20150521-WA0014 An unsettling timid beating heart, butterflies that flutter on listening to that one name, the embarrassing blush that sets in without any warning, and giggles that don’t stop.

Sounds familiar?

First love comes bursting into our lives, turning harsh winters to spring and when it ends, it moves out like a storm leaving behind a trial of destruction. A looming gap, that chips, a bit when the pain moves rushing through.

The never ending questions, constantly asking you if you would be able to fall in love, again. To dance through the rigmarole that accompanies love, again.

If I could, I would gladly erase that first love, it’s not every day that you meet someone who wreaks havoc in your pulse, makes you giddy and takes down those walls behind which I have hid my heart, since forever.

When I see people fall in love, all that I want to do is stop them. These little bursts of chemical reactions tend to have an expiry period, the more number of times you fall in love, this magic potion ends up depleting faster. You lug a baggage of memories, insecurities from one relationship to another, all in exchange for a piece of your heart.

Is it worth it?

But today that I look back, despite all the years that we fought like squabbling kids, not leaving any attempt to undermine and get back at each other, I have a lot to thank for.

Half the person that I am today is knowingly or unknowingly because of you, of the long discussions on psychology that we had, of the books that we read together, of the unending fierce debates that indulged in, never taking each other’s side just because we were in a relationship, relying on logic and sometimes on mindless beliefs to sail through.

Taught me how having a mammoth ego can burn bridges, being ungrateful pushes the other person into a world of pain, to not conform with the rules of relationships that have already been written.

You don’t need hours of phone calls and messages, mails that proclaim your love and dates, all that you need to find is what makes you ‘tick’.

Maybe that grief will never heal, those crevices will never fill, and you will constantly wonder how much love your heart can hold.

But someday, turn back and thank those who broke your heart.

And to the one who taught me that first love never lasts,

Happy Birthday.

This post is day 3 of Rob’s challenge.

The City of Dreams

1245789 There are days that I love a crowd, the days that I’m not stuck in one. Just watching people rush by, all consumed in themselves. Their time, their lives, their dreams, their demands and their needs.

With innumerable faces brimming on the streets, in tall rises, stuck in traffic, running around in never ending circles. Of unfulfilled dreams, desires, to provide for others, share the burden of responsibilities and the cycle of leading a more luxurious life, being richer than someone else.

They say that the road well-travelled gets one nowhere, it’s the roads that aren’t taken that make a world of difference. But I say, get lost in the crowd, run around in circles, sweat, let your legs become numb and fall, let fatigue grip at every muscle in your body.

We never appreciate the things that come to us easy. Getting a peaceful weekend off with family, a breath taking view of the mountains, the side lower berth in the train, or the window seat on the flight. Instead we fight tooth and nail to get our hands on the aisle seats, just to get off the flight earlier and jump right back into the grind.

Someday let us watch our dreams shatter, our hearts break, fail, fall, slip, stumble, and tumble. Get pushed, shoved, lose our way and finally get tired. Fed up of losing track of time, of people, of making everything in life replaceable. Including your own heart, that battered bruised beaten bitter house of memories.

Let us discover magic in the irreplaceable.

This post is the day 2 of Rob’s challenge.

Teacher’s Pets


Janaki – Feisty, hardworking, smart, sharp, blunt, talkative, dominating, disciplined, strong and beautiful.

She reminds me of how I was 12 years back, my reflection.

Always finishing off homework, offering to dust the board, to teach the weaker kids, checking the homework of other kids, being the default monitor, present with a clean uniform and trimmed nails.

Punctual to a fault (got the 100% attendance for 3 consecutive years), be it drought, flood, thunderstorms, tsunamis, earthquakes, this kid is there at school first thing in the morning, every single day, never with a sullen face but with a smile as bright as sunshine.

‘He’ used to call her his most precious girl, the love of his life and man Friday.

But for ones, like me and her, we were only ‘the teacher’s pets’.

This post is in response to two challenges by – Anoop and Rob, one that contains a free style writing challenge and the other entails over 5 days that requires me to post a picture and a story to it.

Time – 9 minutes

Words – 130

Mistakes – Ah, I wouldn’t bother 😛

Time Travel

They say time travel isn’t possible, but have you ever lost yourself in a familiar book or on a familiar street, only to find a dog eared page or an ink stain that you forgot to revisit. A little jasmine plant craning out of a thatched window or the cycle bell of the ice cream vendor.

Sometimes in your old toys and dusty painting books, over conversations with childhood friends, in the bite of the season’s first mango, forgotten class test papers of first grade, or the memory of a bejewelled pink clip that I lost on my last swing ride.

You travel through years of memories, some happy, some sad, weaving a fuzzy quilt out of them to settle in on difficult days. Other days as a shield, a few lessons, for goosebumps, as conversation starters and a few laughs and giggles.

But no matter how far you travel back in time, with some things you never remember your firsts.

The first time that the arms of your lover felt like home, the first words you spoke, the first time you told your parents that you loved them, the first time you tasted chocolate, or the first time you fought with your siblings.

Some things feel like they have been there forever, feelings that you were born with, that were yours even before you knew them.