I have been having the urge to just run away from everyone and everything around me. To just step out of the life that I’m living. To stand out and see my life as it passes by.

To vanish, sublimate, disappear.

I celebrated my birthday in obscurity, in the midst of a forest where there was no cell reception, no internet, no electronic devices. Ample amount of sunshine, star gazing, dense forests, incessant chirping of birds, campfires and books, blankets and blankness.

Then I rang in the new year in a city that I fell in love with, mostly ate bun maska, watched the sun set, the leaves of calendar turn, the sea as the world went past, of singing at 1 in the night and not a care about what next.

And since I’ve been back, the only thing that I can think of is to run away. I don’t know to what, to whom, with whom, where, when, how, why. So many questions. And just no answers.

I zone out with people who talk relentlessly, sit cradling a cup of strong chai and just stare into space wondering if I’ll ever feel the rush of something, whether I’ll feel something maybe ever fall in love, the lala land type, if the pain will ever go away.

I stare at the fan above and remember the ceilings of all the rooms I’ve ever slept in, some I’ve spent hours staring at in the darkness, some have been marred by tears streaming down my eyes, finding their way and disappearing in my hair, some of them have the loudest laughs, the chorus singing and most of them with books with dog eared pages perched on my chest lost deep in thought.

This year there will be some and then more..



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.


I dream of having a forest in my backyard,

Laden with tall pine trees and jasmine plants.

Whenever I walk and run through, its after scent hinges onto me,

For Days. Months. Years.

To build a swing with ropes and tie it to a high branch,

Feel my feet rise above the ground and my hair sway with the wind,

In a lush green open field, scattered with daisies, white and yellow.

Sleep under the stars, clear dark skies and dazzling twinkling stars,

Paint all the beautiful lines that have ever been written,

Across walls, on the streets,

Writing love, one word at a time.

Dangle my feet from a high rise, sitting on the parapet,

With a glass of rum with ice clinking,

Trying to grow my wings and fly away…

Wind and Words.


In a million years, parallel universes and multiple lives,
I envision what you and I could be.
Two strangers staring at bright screens at the opposite ends of the world,
Or lovers, hopeless, intoxicated and drunk on love.
Some days I feel like you are the sun and I’m the moon,
I am, because you are.
Other days I think of us as joy and sorrow,
One not fully appreciable without the other.
Like Scheherazade, I spin and weave tales of us,
Two brilliant burning stars in the vast whirlpool of galaxies,
Gravitating and falling towards each other,
Magnetic attraction, bounded by a constellation.
And yet, even if I could, I wouldn’t stop at a thousand stories of us,
Because the heart never stops to love, its pain, bottomless.

Find your way home

The place where you can prance around in your pajamas, tie your hair in a bun and drag yourself off the floor.
Where you can slump into the couch and watch reruns for hours while immersing your sorrow in a tub of chocolate ice cream.

When breakfast can be had at 1, lunch at 5, dinner at 12 and a piece of dense chocolate cake at 3 in the morning, cause it ain’t never to late to have dessert.

But is that what a home is supposed to mean?

So, go out.

Meet new people, even if you want to stay holed up in your pillows and quilt.
Stand in the sun, and feel the warmth on your face though all that you feel within is damp, cold.

Talk, laugh and smile, practice. And with time the lump in your throat when someone asks about him, the stabbing pain will get pushed away, deep down, somewhere. That is all what you need for now and let time work its way out.

Home is a place to rest.
We are too young to be this sad, tired and worn out, no?


There is something melodramatic about bridges.

An uneven path, strewn with red gulmohars, overlooking a stream.

At times a meeting point for lovers, midway through.

Each taking their fair share of compromise, of going the distance, finishing each other’s sentences.

Sometimes we reluctantly build bridges.

Someone, somewhere extends you their hand, arm, a sympathetic ear and if you’re lucky, their heart.

But what happens when you are left stranded on the bridge that you built with someone.

A broken heart.

A tragic separation.

Do you continue to stand on the bridge, alone, stranded?

Waiting for their return.

Wait for time to heal wounds, provide answers, or just run?

To burn those bridges that cause nothing but pain.

But, wouldn’t it be better if we stood on those very bridges with ourselves,

Relished the breeze, soaked in the view and counted the stars.