Auld Lang Syne

‘Where are you?’

I read the text, rather stared at it till the words blended into each other and disappeared into the white background. To say the truth most of the messages on my phone read in a similar fashion, a few just have my name, others enquire if I’ve forgotten them, albeit a few angry texts and welcome to the corporate life smirk, unanswered calls, mails just left open, a couple of helium balloons free to just be in the sky.

I am busy most days, but I do wrangle out a few hours for myself, sometimes it’s just 15 minutes in a day, at other times almost an hour. During these precious minutes, I try to catch up on some reading, shut my eyes and listen to music, feel my fingers strum the strings, or like today manage inordinate amounts of concentration while having Hershey’s kisses melt in my mouth, chocolate coating my tongue, and warmth spreading over my heart.

Throughout the day we talk, communication is inescapable. To colleagues, parents, cab wallahs, grocers, anyone and everyone. And we pick up on a ton of opinions, on love, life, listen to their stories and pocket a few fears, learn, unlearn, relearn our insecurities.

We become a culmination of a lot more people than we want to be, good though it is, we also lose ourselves in the mix, one person at a time.

Which is why I decided to spend time with myself, weird at first but the more I look into myself, staying silent, cutting off from people, the more than required dose of the same people I’m exposed to all day, the more I like it.

Oh and by me, I mean me, books, chocolate and caramel popcorn, and icecream.

So there you go, what was keeping me away from scribbling my thoughts here, was me.

Most days I’d think of a few lines, sometimes witty, at times melodramatic, short stories and galore, but the balance tipped slightly towards the sit in silence and either watch the fan and eat kisses or read a book.  But I catch up on reading what my dear fellow bloggers read, be it on wordpress or on mails and I realise that I miss writing here dearly, so I promise to try and make time, steal, borrow maybe from myself and scribble away!


You creep through my window in the mornings,
Carrying with you the melody of azaan.

Sometimes you make neem branches sway in delight,
A faint perfume and dot tiny white flowers on my window sill.

During monsoons you decide to play a prankster,
Tangle branches with electricity wires,
And push the city into darkness, tip-tap of the rain and glistening of the streets,
A blanket of stars envelope the city, bringing in a cold gush,
You set the weather, for books, quilts, and long telephone calls.

Most mornings I mutter angrily on your doings,
Of how with one swish you manage to push the curtains over bottles of lotion,
Petite bottles that lean against the mirror and adorn the wooden table,
Into a tumbling mess, half scattered and half that send me scattering away,
To search for my kohl pencil that happily glided under the dresser.

But the day before, overcome by the laziness that holidays bring along,
I stood in front of the window and not the mirror for a change,
Brushed aside the curtains to have a taste of what calm feels like,
Of the slight breeze that glanced my face, warmth of the sun that caressed my soul.

It taught me a thing or two while passing by,
Some days take a pause, just stay still, let the worries settle,
We have a long life ahead, to crib and shout, dash and run without a second glance,
But today, stand for a moment longer, five more minutes is all I ask,
To feel alive, one moment a day.

Middle Ground

And there you were, somewhere between reality and dreams,

Where the lines blur and the sea meets the sky,

An ethereal blue, all around, for as far as the eyes can see.


We fell in love, somewhere between midnight and morning,

Most of what we had, oscillated like a pendulum,

Taking in its wake the full spectrum of feelings.


Either we were word pairs or the pieces of an incomplete puzzle,

Middle ground never existed,

Now here you are, once again.


I don’t know what to term you,

Love or like? Friends or lovers?

For the longest time I decided to not name you,

Back into familiar warm corners.


Beyond being branded into boxes,

Like torrential rains during summer,

Confusing meteorologists, labels and conventions, all alike.


Visible mess,

Infallible guess,

Incomplete address,