Whatever must be…

Its beyond me that we grow up hearing from people and seeing all around us how we must value ourselves and love ourselves. What is even more inexplicable is how easily we forget that and completely immerse ourselves in finding definitions around people and situations. In a profound conversation with a certain someone from 4 years ago I found the meaning of all relationships, romantic or otherwise.

A:   more random unnecessary information suspended for some time
me:   why does silence need to be uncomfortable?
I mean, silence is a good thing no.
A:   depends on the people you are silent with.
me:   only people who truly know and understand eachother can be comfortably silent around each other
A:   i used to like to listen to you breath on the other end of the phone
me:   I am still breathing, you know
A: i cant hear it

We continue to exist. We continue to exist, independent of people or situations or circumstances. But when we are in the thick of these situations with these people, we refuse to look at the bigger picture. And then one day, even as we continue to breathe, the other person can not hear it anymore. Then we can take charge and try to find our own lost sense of self or find other people to be around and define ourselves for them, according to them…

This is a mindless, mid-night rant…one of the many that have been happening too often these days. Over Skype conversations with lovers and friends, in between the pages of random notes, under blankets and in the head. some nights it feels like they will consume me. some nights it feels like they will help me get away from things.



Begin Again

I think its always a good time to begin again. Sometimes people are a verse gone wild on paper, drifting off and coming around in circles, over and over again. Sometimes, it’s important to punctuate and to begin again. Its important to read the draft that you are. Its important to believe that you are a work in progress and no matter how badly shaped you may seem at this point, there is always time to begin again.

I have been running away from hard hitting reality for as long as i can remember. It started many summers ago when my mother was diagnosed for the first time. I would go away to my friend’s house for days at a stretch and pretend like the dysfunctional life that was waiting for me at my parents’ house was not my life to live. I did manage to shut it out for many years. I would sleep early. Wake up early. Be in the house as little as possible. Make as little conversation as possible. Use books as an excuse to not talk to people. It worked. It worked for as long as it could have and then it stopped working. In hindsight I realise that could have been a good time to hit pause and begin again. But I did not. I ran away, instead. And I think I have been running since. From any sort of discomfort, from pain, from hurt, from people who I might end up getting attached to, from love, from reality and above all from myself. I cant remember when was the last time I was myself. I am not sure if I ever remember who I am anymore.



In rooms crowded with pigtails
and half pants
They taught us maps
and shapes and swirls.
They’ve changed now into
very different rants
As Atwood’s ‘I’ laments all the
maps are coloured in
And Edward said it’s an
orientalist thing.
They are not swirls anymore but
Yeat’s Gyres.
we keep winding upon new meanings each day.
And in our mad search we forget
to hear what Beckett had to say.
This is not a poem
Just as I am not learning anymore.
I am unlearning the things they have chalked in
about good and bad and gods in books and sin.
I want to know why are ballets full of bullet holes?
And in brothels we find most purging their souls?
Why you and I can have our fifteen seconds of fame
But we would still not know the neighbour’s name.
They managed to strew most half truths on the classroom floor with chalk dust
But our brains still rust
because they skipped that lesson- discernibly the most important one-
the one where they should have taught us not to learn anymore.

Midnight Musing

I am not supposed to be writing this or thinking about it. I should be sleeping. Dreaming up new dreamy concoctions. Living my many parallel, fictional lives. Stretching out on this cool, breezy veranda as all the stress and anxiety of an ironically uneventful day ebbs away from my body. But here I am. Body and mind- thinking, stressing, being anxious.

And my heart? That’s somewhere else. In some far foreign land that my mind and body have not had the time to explore and to demean forever. She is meeting new people, turning new stones over and over again in her hand till they become smooth, making her own path where the grass is yet green. She is living the life I never had. She is still crying over the death of a stranger she has only imagined to resemble a scorned lover without much basis. She is still clinging on to the hope that another day will bring news of this attractive stranger finding his love and of their story ending like all others do, Happily. She is still not ready to dig her unkempt hair out of the many letters and verses and rhymes that are caught up in it. Just like her disheveled self is not ready to cross over the parapet of this pool of absurdity to dive into the bone chilling, but quite necessary reality.

My heart, is still pressed between the pages of some book lying neglected somewhere in the clutter my body and mind have managed to ever so skillfully procure. It is drying away its tears and drowning out its importunate laughter. In a last sigh dragged far too long, it is trying to find a medicine for both the heartache and the happiness that these dog eared, coffee stained pages have brought upon it.

And soon, it shall join us again. On our mindless touristic peregrination. Only till I send it off, again. On the real journey whose path stretches across the length and breadth of this book rack. and another. and another. and another.

My New Beginnings And Other Banalities.

Side stepping from my regular style of blogging, this post is going to be about one albeit usual but magical day in my life.

As I type this out to the world, the gravity of what has just passed hits me with all its force. For a single exhalation I feel everything slip out of my hands and I start losing my nerve. Only to be calmed by the thought that if I am here writing about it, it can’t turn out to be so bad. It just can not.
All I can tell myself at this point is that no good thing ever came without being headstrong and risking everything for the one portion of chance you know you can’t afford but also know is worth all the pain and trouble and uncertainty in the world.

If my memory is not playing tricks on me, roughly one month back I added a Countdown date to my Blog’s widgets. Many people inquired what this landmark day was. Most, out of the pointless curiosity that often paves way to gossip and has become a way of life with people now. A select few, out of genuine concern and interest.
For the latter, I write this today.

With a shameless disregard for modesty, let me say this. I was born with a gift to have my hand in multiple things at one time and do well at all of them. Unlike other people my age who were behind on studies the minute they took up an activity outside the defined syllabus, I could do fairly well both at school exams and at extra-curricular activities. Athletics, Music, Drama, Debate, Dance, Sports, Cooking, Volunteer work. You name it, I’ve done it. Sometimes, all of it packed into one school year.  I was not the geek who always topped the class or the person with fingers that could create heaven on a paper or the person people stopped dead in their tracks to hear talking. I’d say I was a bit of all of those people. “Jack of all trades, Master of some” would be me put in a simple compound sentence. My modest self would say a wonderful combination of genes from a genius mother and a go-getter father are to thank.  And she would not be wrong entirely.

So When in the December of one year that seems so far away now, I did exceptionally well at something I was a novice at and thought a herculean task before, I credited that achievement to my innate ability of taking on new things with a certain ease as. Even the in-suppressible urge to do nothing but this particular task was shunned away without much thought. Only when I froze in the face of performance at the same task a year later did I realize, this is what I am meant to do. And that nothing but this can give me true contentment in life. Not happiness. Not fame. Not Money. But contentment that none of those things and more often than not very insignificant and banal things can bring.

Today I have put three years of complete dedication and hard-work towards my parents’ dream behind me to give myself entirely to this one thing that has robbed me of sleep many a nights. It has been my own personal (and until now, secret) love interest. Like any good, masala Bollywood flick would guarantee, we have a horde of vamps and villains chasing us around 24×7.  They’re planning covert plots to do us apart and we are reciting sweet nothings every second complete to the till-death-d0-us-apart/s.
Like any good heroine would, I have put my trust in him without a speck of doubt. Now it is for all to see and time to tell where he takes me. A battered old house with no supplies? A mansion with all riches and comforts? I know not. And neither do I care to find out. Wherever he takes me, our love will be enough to quench my thirst and our mutual admiration enough to fill my stomach. And could one ask for more? Austere living is the mantra here.

As I left home in a hurry with a less than modest breakfast of 3 Marie biscuits and Green Tea in me, I moved with a certain purpose. My gait was not slow and relaxed. I was not looking at every inanimate object and observing (but never judging) every moving person. I walked like people with important things to look to do. Like a tiger stealthily moves to grab the night’s dinner. Like a business person trots away with another poor man to rob today and another yet tomorrow. Like a person with a purpose

The metro was surprisingly full for a Sunday. I noticed that people will do anything in the name of fashion. A girl sitting on the opposite seat was wearing blue corduroy pants and knee-high suede boots. This is Delhi. Some 35 degrees and very sunny. I was sweating just looking at her.

I took an auto to the destination. The first auto-waalle-bhaiya refused to go by the meter. The second one agreed.
One expects a good crowd on such a day. But I guess when they come, they come in small groups. It is when they leave that big mad rush happens. And it did.
I had to walk a kilometer, maybe more, to get an auto back to the metro station. The ratio of auto to people who wanted to hire them must have been 1:50. So when I saw an old woman expectantly look in the direction of the auto I had just hired and then sighing in disappointment at the site of me sitting in the back seat I asked her where she wanted to go. It turned out she wanted to go the same metro station as me. I suggested we share the auto. And, after much thought(I think she was working out the odds of  a 19 year old girl that looks like I do being a terrorist or something) she agreed.

It had been a long day. I was tired, thirsty and very hungry. Remember the scrumptious breakfast I had mentioned earlier? It was 6 o’clock in the evening now. And nothing else had found its way into my mouth since. But I was in a hurry to get back home and could not afford to kill time buying a bottle of water, let alone eating something. Just when the image of ice-cold water from my fridge trickling down my throat and some of it spilling on me was plastered on my mind, the woman sitting next to me dished out a bottle of water from her bag and drank mouthfuls. She did not offer. I guess after all the cases of strangers drugging people and running away with their valuables even decent people dare not offer a drink or a snack to a stranger. And I was a young woman in this infamous city. This reminds me of the time when I was a kid and we would journey very long distances in trains. Other than eating train food that was just about doable and pointless banter with my shy sibling and constant warnings from my mother (Bebo, don’t stick your head of the compartment. Bebo, don’t run around in the gallery. Bebo, don’t drink the tap water when you brush your teeth. Bebo, don’t climb the top berth every 5 minutes. BEBO! STOP HITTING YOUR BROTHER WITH THAT DOLL RIGHT NOW!), the thing I miss the most is meeting new people on trains. I am sure every Indian family has that one friend they met on a train and instantly clicked off with. My Nanaji recently attended one such friend’s daughter’s wedding (they met on a train some 30 years back). It is sad to live with the fact that no such train friends will attend my daughter’s wedding. Because today, trusting someone you meet on a train is nothing if not insane. It really pains me to know that trust does not flow freely even in blood relations now, let alone strangers.

My clock tells me that this has been stretched far too long than was desired. I was telling a friend just today that I never know how and when to end something I write. Endings are just awkward for me.
But I guess here it will suffice to say that today I start my new life as The person I always was but never could be.
Today, I wrote an exam for admission into my dream college for Journalism.
Today, I drowned a perfect career opportunity in medicine.
Today, I paved way for maybe not a perfect but a regret and blame free future.
Today, I gave my dreams a chance.

And I must have you know, I have never felt better. It like being born again. New things to learn. New lives to live. New places to explore. New people to run into. And New dreams to decorate on soft pillows.
Here is one to Dreams, the kind that don’t let you sleep 🙂

For those of you who did not follow our blog back when this was posted.

The Poetically Incorrect.

What of Destiny?

Were you not planning to offer me your seat on the train I missed helping the old man with directions?
And I was sure we’d meet at the Seven Sisters concert that I bunked to stay cooped up in my room filled with the scent of someone who hasnt been here..all alone but for Sinatra to take me all the way to Paaradise.
Didn’t we cross eachother on the subway just yesterday? But you were with your brigade of friends and I was in the middle of a bad, bad hair day.
Or the week before when you were too preoccupied passionately discussing politics for tea in the cafeteria and me, wrinkling my nose up another sneeze.
I’d bet you frequent that chicken corner we dont eat at. My roommate is Vegan.
When it rained and I wouldn’t dare walk out sans an umbrella. You were waiting…

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CATE 2012- What to and What not to Believe.

On a sultry Wednesday morning some 22 days ago when most of us were busy adjusting temperatures on our Air Conditioners and planning summer vacations with family, one Pritika Ghura decided to sweat it out and sat down to key in false information about Delhi University’s Common Aptitude Test in English 2012 (CATE, as it shall be abbreviated here on) or so a chafed acquaintance declared to the whole wide world on Facebook via an impassioned status message.
The Article posted on LearnHub, that caused much anxiety among aspiring candidates caught my attention while surfing Google for various college admission details. Now LearnHub happens to be a big player in the online career counselling/consultancy market. The chances of it then displaying false information with such great detail were slim. One look at the Author’s Profile and the chances matched Kareena Kapoor’s size : ZERO!
Another catch is, The article appears to have been posted 22 days ago which would be the 2nd of May. BUT, It carries information about sale of CATE application forms which it says begun on 20th of May. HOW? A prediction perhaps? A prophecy?
Jokes aside,  It really got me thinkin, “what is this article all about? And why is it here?”

The only plausible explanation I could come up with is that the article was posted in the year 2010 and the computer data base just re-uploaded it this year or shows the wrong year of publication. Now, I am no computer geek (not even close) which means I have no idea if such an error is possible but something I did work out is
The inaugural CATE was held in 2009. If we go by the article, May 20th is a Thursday. But May 20th was a Sunday this year, a Friday in 2011 AND a THURSDAY in 2010.
Another Google search and A The Times Of India article confirmed my suspicions. The availability of CATE forms in the year 2010 was, indeed, from the 20th of May to the 31st of May which coincides with the information available in the aforementioned article.
The conclusion I finally arrived at is, if humans are bound to err then the internet and all the information on it is nothing but human creation. The article contains correct information.. but for the year of 2010.

So where is the correct information for this year, you ask? On the Delhi University’s official website, of course! Years of looking up and filling college application forms has taught me that for correct information you should trust no one but the official website of the institute, university or college. And with a University as sought after and renowned as The Delhi University you can be sure of timely updates and announcements.

Without any more delay, let me have you know that the Sale of CATE 2012 Application forms begins on 25th May, which is a Friday and will go on till the 4th of June, Monday which is also the last date for receipt of completed application forms. You can purchase the forms from any of the 21 Participating College(link mentioned at the end of this post) between 10am-1pm and 2pm-4pm for Day Colleges and 4pm-7pm for Evening Colleges on days between 25th May and 4th June (excluding Saturdays and Sundays)

To obtain the application form, You will need to sumbit a Demand Draft (DD) of Rs. 350 in favor of The Registrar, University of Delhi
Drawn on any one of the following banks:
State Bank of India
Punjab National Bank

The Date of Test is Saturday, 9th June 2012 (11am-1pm)

The Date for Declaration of CATE Merit lists(on University Website) is Latest by 25th June 2012.

Eligibility Criteria for 
DU CATE 2012

  • For general category, the eligibility criteria is 45% marks in 4 main subjects in Std XII.
  • For OBC category, the eligibility criteria is 40.5% and for physically challenged students it is 40%. The SC/ST students must have passed class XII to be eligible for the exam.

How to prepare yourself for CATE 2012? 

Another thing you should not believe about CATE is that there is/are a particular book/s to prepare you for the exam. As is clear from the name, It is an aptitude exam. The very word implies that this exam is in place to test your aptitude for taking an Under graduate course in English. Mugging up a fixed set of questions is not going to help for the simple reason that there is no fixed set of questions from which questions shall be asked in the CATE. But that does not mean you have to turn up clueless for the exam. Let me run you through a basic pattern of the paper and what you can do in this short span of time to do well in the exam:

CATE is a 2 hour examination. The paper will consist of 2 section. Part ‘A’ will comprise Multiple Choice Questions (or MCQs) and Part ‘B’ subjective or descriptive answer type questions(comprehension and essay/creative pieces). Both sections are to be attempted in the same sitting and in a specified time span of 2 hours.

Now there is one little detail you should be aware of. Although there is no Screening or Elimination round for this exam as such, the Part ‘A’ of the paper will act as screen for your qualifications. How?
While all candidates will attempt both parts of the paper, only the scripts of those students who qualify in Part ‘A’, as per standards laid down by the university, will have their scripts for Part ‘B’ evaluated.
In simple comprehend-able English it means if you secure certain qualifying marks in the Objective Part ‘A’ only then will your Part ‘B’ script be evaluated. That translates- it is imperative you do well in Part ‘A’ to pass the exam.
Moving over to how you can best paper yourself for the exam..
I think, and this is my personal opinion entirely, that in the 10-15 days one has before the test date no ground breaking improvement in ones overall prospects to qualify the examination can be made. Nonetheless, you can start by picking up a habit for reading books (which trust me, will prove to be a very useful habit in the future if you plan to take English Literature seriously). You must start following at least 1 daily newspaper and acquaint yourself with the current style of writing and presentation. One, albeit unrelated but very wise decision would be to start substituting sms lingo in your daily conversations- online and on text message- with properly spelled, complete words. It barely takes a few more seconds to type the entire word but puts you at ease in writing better creative pieces in exams like the CATE where proper grammar is of paramount importance.

Furthermore, you could find out about popular literature online such as Famous Authors and Poets and their works. Some knowledge about 19th and 20th century literature could come in handy as well. Although there are no sample papers or previous year question papers issued by the university, a friend who wrote the exam last year shared that the objective section consisted primarily of Popular Literature and related items.
In all, a good base and firm understanding of the English Language and some knowledge in Popular English literature could sail your boat. Like I said, aptitude matters.

List of participating colleges and other details are available on http://www.du.ac.in/

If you have any trouble finding the correct details on the university website just click on or copy paste the following link in your web browser address bar and you’ll find a PDF file containing all the necessary information. The link to copy paste is:

I hope that answers some of your questions. If you have any further queries feel free to leave a comment or email me at akankshasingh13@gmail.com and I’ll try to get back to you as soon as possible.
All the best for your future plans. I do hope you clear the CATE with flying colors and any other exam you want to clear, including the exam called life 😀
Carpe Diem.

PS: For my blogger friends outside India, I know this post had no significance for you. Sorry about that. But I have a lot of posts lined up for the weekend. Here is saying Hello to you 🙂 hope you’re doing fine.
Take care.

Funereal Whispers.

Lost and I will not be found again
Like water melting into thirsty sand.
Or words breathed but left unattended
Or perhaps turned away.

Failed and I will not triumph again
Like precious silk but weak at each thread.
Or a pen that stopped squirting ink
on the last page of life.

Defeated by none but self.
With no will to live a tear-drop more
Or a smile that tried but never
manifested on your chipped lips.
Or kind things that only ever your
thoughts left but never expressed.

Am I even a blip on your canvas?
A fading spot of carcass perhaps.
Or maybe nothing but a numb
thorn to curse and pluck out to shun away.

A few words to share

If you’re still reading my post on this blog you must have it figured that I am one lazy kid with the attention span of a 2 year old. The fact that I managed to dish out all of 6 posts in the month of April is a testimony to the same. Another testimony is this post where I’ll just compile all the good things I’ve read in a while. That said, I hope you enjoy this the same as my other posts and as much as I enjoyed reading them.

This is something my friend Purvi shared on my most favorite places in the world, Blurts.

You want the truth?
Well, here it is.
Eventually, you forget it all.
First, you forget everything you learned – the dates of wars and Pythagorean theorem. You especially forget everything you didn’t really learn, but just memorized the night before.
You forget the names of all but one or two of your favorite teachers; and eventually you forget those, too.
You forget your junior year class schedule and where you used to sit, and your best friend’s home phone number and the lyrics to that song you must have played a million times.
And eventually, but slowly, you forget your humiliations – even the ones that seemed indelible just fade away.
You forget who was cool and who was not, who was pretty, smart, athletic, and not.
Who went to a good college, who threw the best parties, who had the most friends – you forget all of them.
Even the ones you said you loved, and the ones you actually did.
They’re the last to go.
And once you’ve forgotten enough, you love someone else

– ‎Gabrielle Zevin, Memoirs of a Teenage Amnesiac

Another wonderful share from Purvi.

“I’m not always as confident as I seem. (And neither as foolish as you assume.).
There are many nights and many days when all I want is to be held.
I love being held. Always.
Sometimes I don’t want to talk about what is bothering me.
Sometimes I just want a hug.
Someone who will let me cry.
I like when boys cry in front of me – when people aren’t afraid to show what they’re really feeling.
I don’t like when people run from their true feelings because it doesn’t do anyone any good.
I wear my heart on my sleeve, but I am not naive. (It is for love that I close my eyes.)
I know what it feels like to be completely broken and I am all too familiar with what it means to be hurt.
I know what it’s like to see something funny and not laugh.
I’ve been taken advantage of, used, and abused.
My feelings have been blatantly disregarded.
But I still believe that all people are good at heart.
And my trust in people has not diminished.
To be completely honest, I hope it never does. Ever.”



3. Some Chuck Palahniuk quotes I read on my Quotes App.

“You know, the condom is the glass slipper of our generation. You slip it on when you meet a stranger. You dance all night, then you throw it away. The condom, I mean. Not the stranger.”

“I’ve met God across his long walnut desk with his diplomas hanging on the wall behind him, and God asks me, “Why?” Why did I cause so much pain? Didn’t I realize that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness? Can’t I see how we’re all manifestations of love? I look at God behind his desk, taking notes on a pad, but God’s got this all wrong. We are not special. We are not crap or trash, either. We just are. We just are, and what happens just happens. And God says, “No, that’s not right.” Yeah. Well. Whatever. You can’t teach God anything.”

“If death meant just leaving the stage long enough to change costume and come back as a new character…Would you slow down? Or speed up?”

That’s it for now.
Signing off,
Ms. LazyGalaxy 😀


I always thought I would start with a sigh and it would take off from there. I thought you would create yourself. I thought it would bleed from me on a sunny monday morning. You would argue about my choice of weather had you been here today. It has to be a sunny monday morning. A cold winter night? Not a chance. All of those are wasted away in your oversized sweat-shirt reading books I dont like. Why dont I stop reading? Because they are your books. Even a sliver of hope of finding a dry, yellowing tear drop staining the pages of grief is enough to pull me through those nights of dying moons and ashen dreams. Now I doubt my choice of words. Were such nights wasted afterall?
A gloomy saturday evening while raindrops race eachother down the window glass, perhaps? The words would wash away. Do you remember how you would drag me outside to get drenched? You wanted to shoo away my childhood fear of getting lice in my hair from playing in the rain. I have overcome most fears now. And those days are, rightfully, spent walking on wet grass. Am I secretly clinging on to the idea that someday you will see me braving the let down of sad clouds and be proud of how “grown up” I am?
It has to be a sunny monday morning.
And it is.

It has been 4 years to that day.

Your voice on the other end of the phone. Calculated. Each pause exactly where it should be. Each word just where it belongs. Not a break less nor a sound more. As if you were reading from a script you’ve mastered over frequent recitals. Yet so fresh. As if the words were uttered for the very first time. Like the laughter of a newborn. Unheard of. Like the tray after tray and batch after batch of muffins you would bake when things seemed squally in your head. Each one perfect but not same as another.
As opposed to what?
Someone called me. The smell of jasmine in a bottle carelessly left uncapped in the wind, Wafting without a direction. The last drop of juice left inside the carton, struggling to be let out but never trying hard enough. The two words stitched on to the end of a sentence, not necessary but changing the meaning irreversibly.
Not a perfect match. But not half bad either. If we ever spoke of such matters you’d laugh it off with the same words each time. “Your father has a lot money and I, a decent brain. Think of things we can do with that. Could a match get any more perfect?” Gullible as I am, I would accept that you loved me for my father’s fortune, albeit momentarily.

And today, you changed my mind again. The ease with which I expected this transition turned to be a struggle. An unbearable, excruciatingly painful process.

Something on the television, as I aimlessly flicked its channels, reminded me of that song you used to sing to me on the phone. But the song did not start playing in my head. I could not even remember the lyrics. Or what the song was about. Was it a sad song? But why would you sing a sad song to me? When I could not hear you singing it into my ears, my fingers started shaking. This could not be. I panicked. How could I forget your voice? How could I not imagine you singing to me instantaneously, at will? A few hours and a lot of struggle later I found the original song on the internet. I heard the entire track for the very first time. And it just did not sound right. You were supposed to be singing it. Not with all those fancy instruments playing in the background. Only the bleak sound of your guitar streaming in through the phone. And your voice. Your voice. You. And you singing every single word like you meant it. You made it seem that the song was written by you for me and could never be sung to another. But here he was. This strange man singing your song, our song, to the entire world. It is just not right.
I can bear standing alone in the rain. Wet from head to toe.
I can suffer cold winter nights and live through gloomy autumn afternoons. Alone and suffocating myself in your essence.
But this. This I am not far enough to brave.
Not today. Not tomorrow. Not the day after. Or the week, month, year after that. Never.

What else can I do?
I need you to be with me. And years of waiting tell me that you just wont come back.
I pull the trigger and wait till you bleed from me.

Fair enough.

I wrote this poem back in 2010 when someone I knew personally was murdered or killed for honor, as the prepatrators of this heinous crime had put it. It has been two years to that day and such satanic acts continue to happen all over India. Strict laws, police vigilance, social activism..nothing succeeds in bringing down these cold blooded murders. The only solution I see is in the root cause of this problem, a mass cultural delusion that the honor of a family is in who (and of what caste/creed/religion/gotra) their children marry. What we need is a basic rethinking of principles. People need to realise that essentially fatal violence against a member of their own family is no more reputable or honorable than marriages they deem as wrong and sinful. And perhaps, a look at the situation from the victim’s eyes would help them realise the gravity of this criminal offense and maybe, just maybe, soften their stone hearts.

Blood..red blood
the same red
of the roses
he got me the day we wed

Red was all over that day and today too when all is over.

His hand are
firmly clutching mine,
Just like they were
back in that time.

Our fingers still
fit perfectly in the spaces.
I can still see him
smiling with his braces.

Stills from the past
Emotions ceaselessly

And the scene now playing is
of our first touch.
His Dravidian dark against
my Himachali paleness.

There goes the graduation
day past my eyes.
New lives for some,
for some others sad goodbyes.
We both took the Hippocratic Oath that day.
We took our own roads, headed the same way.

Now the train crawls out of this station of obscurity
Into Dream Central, worth all dreams
Our hearts beating in rhythm, fast
His hands on mine on the train’s iron cast.

When Anatomy lectures set
this chemical explosion off,
we know not.
Thigh dissection, bone re-arrangement
and pathogens-
every passing second,
only closer we got.

In this picture, we are exchanging
garlands and promises worth a lifetime
Just Us and the priest
and wedding bells that chime.

When life became an extended honeymoon
There was love and more love
where now there is only doom.

And now I can see our girls
when they were younger.
Their innocent,blank stares
and cute pig tales.

Frames switch quick
the machinery goes tok
tik- tok- tik.

It has been 5 years
since the graduation day,
things are going only one way,
our way.


Just today
some people knocked on the door
When I did not answer their call
they knocked and they knocked more
I hide my fairies
In the closet.
And pressed 1- Sree’s speed dail
to make my last call
Deep inside I knew we’d lost it all.

A good fight
and a number of tries
Later the hinges lost.
All I could see was
my brother, some goons
and unending frost.

Sree’s calm voice on the phone
tells me to run or to hide
His voice, so assuring,
so warm
I can feel him here, by my side

But now the damage is done
where there was so much happiness
now there is none.

The machinery in the ambulance
and the siren hurt my ears.
All I want is to close my eyes
and go back in the years.

He is holding my hand very tight.
Whispering into my ears,
“Baby, everythings gonna be alright.”

But its fair enough,
Isn’t it?
I killed my kin’s honor
and their honor killed me.

* An honor killing (also called a customary killing) is the murder of a (typically female) family or clan member by one or more fellow (mostly male) family members, in which the perpetrators (and potentially the wider community) believe the victim to have brought dishonour upon the family, clan, or community.

Indian Girls often face the wrath of their families and at times communities for marrying without their families’ acceptance or outside their caste.
In North India, mainly in the culture of ethic Rajputs – who despite the forces of modernization and the pressures of decolonization, subscribe to medieval views concerning the “preservation” of perceived “purity” of their lineage- girls are killed every other day in the name of honor.
This is my small attempt at making people aware of such barbarian acts taking place in our own country, our own state, our own city and at times our own family.

Dedicated to Sangeeta Thakur and all those innocent girls who have fallen prey to such inhuman acts.
May your soul rest in peace.

A Letter To My Ex- II

Dear Ex,

I’ll skip the explanation for writing this letter to you. Because it is not you that I write to. This letter is merely adressed to you but is, in fact, meant for all my innocent and meek girlfriends who have, fortunately, not come across any “you” yet. As I now know, unfortunately, without experience or a first hand warning-like this one- it is impossible to tell you from any other guy that may truely deserve them. You do camouflage rather well.

Let me start by reminding you who you are. You are a smart, handsome, popular, over achieving, well to do guy. Every single girl’s dream. A knight in shining armour. Only till the armour comes off to reveal the cruel, calculative, cunning and heartless bastard that you really are. I wont take away the credit of your good looks, wealth or popularity from you. But that is exactly where you end. At superficial achievments. In your case, the water runs no deeper. There isn’t a kind human being or a genuinely warm person inside that shell of fake smiles and cleverly scripted lies. Everything to you is a profit or loss equation. Every person only an object to use to get to something or someone else.
My neighbour’s cat has more emotion and love than you. And my neighbour’s cat is pretty much cold and emotionless, to put it kindly. Sometimes I think she is secretly devising a plan to nuke the earth. But then, she is still more humane than you are.
What amazes me and is also sad is the fact that in spite of your character being nothing but grey and patches of dark, you have too many admirers and friends to validate it. Perhaps it is true that we value material wealth, physical appearance and surface achievements over kindness, honesty and loyalty.

Before people form the mental image of a scored ex girlfriend (that would be me) of a downright amazing and admirable you, Let me jump straight to our “Break Up”.
Why did we break up?
Because, over a cup of coffee with a new friend I was informed of a person who looked exactly like you, went by your name, lived in your house, was taking the course you were but was in a “committed” relationship with this new friend of mine. Strange, right? Strange still is, she met you through another friend you were previously dating. But as it turns out, “previously” means “presently” in your dictionary. A little background research and stalking later, another invisible ghost floated up to the surface. You prepositioned a girl on a recent tennis tour.
What did I do? I tried to confront you. Yes, I was still open to “talking things out”. Yes, after realizing that you were not two, not three but four timing me. I hoped against all hope that I will wake up one day and have someone tell me it was all a bad dream and now its over. I wanted, more than anything else for that someone to be you. The things love does to a person!
What did you do?
You ran away. You stopped taking my calls. You would not reply to e-mails. When you moved to a new place for college, you did not give me your new number. And then, you fell off the radar. You wiped all traces of your existence from the face of earth. “Us” became a beautiful dream that never really happened. And “now”, an ugly truth I was left to deal with every day.

It was not always like this. There was a time, which seems eons away from me now, when you held my hand through a dark tunnel of loneliness and despair. First, as a friend. Then, as a companion. There was a time when we held between us the self proclaimed world record for talking on the phone for the longest time, 20 hours to be exact, without a drop. I was alone at home and even a dead twig fluttering in the wind outside my window would have me quivering in fear. You told me a hundred times that you are always by my side that day. I almost believed you were. I can still hear you singing “Hey There Delilah” to me. You said there were songs to describe all things in the world and this song described us. On my 16th birthday you said “It took my mother 16 years to make me gentle and it took you 16 seconds to make me mental.” You gave me a story book romance. And I guess a story book ending as well.

All that wiseassery of being one relationship old and armed with deep knowledge and great insight boiled down to nothing. I was back to square one. Back to wasting tears and filling page after page with sad poetry. But this time around, the tears dried up relatively quicker. When I finally dug my head out of a concoction of tears, heartache and unkept hair there was one good thing I learned.. I realised that there is no immunity shot or vaccination to a broken heart. Each time you have your little pacemaker stepped on, irrespective of how many times it has been stepped on already, it will hurt equally as much. Sometimes, only more. No heartbreak or bad relationship renders you less vulnerable to another heartbreak or bad relationship. The only wise thing to carry with you is acceptance. You have to accept that people will hurt you. You have to accept that you will hurt people as well. You have to accept that nothing truly lasts forever. You have to accept that all good things in life come with a price. You have to accept that not falling in love is not a solution to not having heart broken again. You have to accept that what once was love can turn to sour hatred, like the yellow plastered walls of an old house- cracking and ugly. You have to accept that its alright to hate some people without a speck of guilt. You have to accept that life goes on. Above all, you have to accept and not regret.

I may forgive you but I can never forget what you did. At least I wont have to invent the wheel every day. I can simply learn from past mistakes and gather all the broken pieces and start afresh.

Do I hate you? Yes. Do I regret falling for you? No. Given a chance to live again, there is not one thing I would change.

Today, you’re at a very good place in life and I am happy for you. I’ll hope you prove right the quote “Every sinner has a future and every saint, a past”
I’ll hope you remember me.

Much( not so much) love,

The Things You Left Behind.

I was looking
For the perfect dress to wear.
I looked
In the old box, It found me there.

rolled down my eyes.
back all your memories
All your clever lies.

I picked it up
It stared back at me.
I unwrapped it,
It barely responded
like a new born baby.

I bring it close to my face,
Hold it in a warm embrace.
It does not
Smell of you anymore.

I drown myself
in it, again.
Like I used to bury
in your arms
my face.

Only now I see how
it really is.
I can’t trace your smell now
Or the way I’d miss
You, every breath.

It has been so long.
Can I even, in one go,
sing the lines to our song?
And In my head will you still hum along?

One last time I’ll
dance with it.
And I guess
I’ll forget you
bit for bit.

Not today, certainly
But someday I’ll laugh
About you and me.

It brought back to me
All your forgotten self.
And I’ll hope it finds me again sometime.
To show me, how you were mine.

For now,
I’ll fold it in neatly.
And put back your plain white T.
I wonder,
Do you ever think of me?

This poem was not written in the best state of mind, as is evident from the rough edges. That said, it has come out exactly the way I wanted it. Rough. Disturbed. Raw. Emotional.


Twelve and here we are again.

You curl and put yourself to sleep.
Someone lays on your side
With salty tears to hide
testimony of the vows you did not keep.

With a stone, they say a woman’s
bestfriend is,
you asked for her hand and
sealed it with a kiss.

Fragrant flowers have faded
in to patched walls since.
The fabric of us dissolved
in an emotional rinse.

And you’ll get up again, the morning next
Only to put on your mask
Here you are, Gullible and meek.

You have pierced
your words right through.
I will just sit here
And bleed.

“Love that imperfect person…

Because, He is perfect for you”


I have not scribbled a word or rhymed a line all week. Personal turmoil and professional pressures are my excuse for this sudden absence. My apologies to the handful of wonderful people who actually take the time to read this blog and look forward to my posts. Now, I am back and I am back here to stay.
For being the supportive and loving people that you are, the least I can do is fix you an explanation. So here goes,
I had an exam on the 1st of this month, yes, on a Sunday. Evidently, my entire weekend was consumed in revising the syllabi and preparing myself for this exam the best I could. When D-day did come, a stroke of bad luck tagged along. From burning my tongue with hot coffee to risking any chances of qualifying this exam because of a silly mistake. Everything thing that could possibly go wrong, did so indeed.
By the time the I left the examination centre my spirits were so down I could lower them into a murky well and fetch myself a pail of obscurity, of non-existence or of death. To top that up, my parents decided to be their unreasonable best and pester me incessantly about the result of the said exam. Just when I was up to my neck in anger, frustration, remorse, guilt, tears and sweat (yes, the summer is here in India) someone I look upto for advice, help, love and support decided to provide none of it. Instead, we faught. Verbal fighting, ofcourse. The entire day we called eachother rude names and brawled like a set of 5 year olds would over a new toy that they end up breaking.
And that made me realise how much time can change about people. Not essentially who they are. But what you want them to be. The things I used to love about this someone at one point in time are the things I now detest. They distance me from him to a point of no return. What scares me is, someday I’ll wake up to a world where he does not feature as an important person in my life anymore. A world where those minor lapses in communication have created such a big vent that its difficult to cross over. A world where I’ve been walking away for so long that I can not trace my footsteps back home, to him.
And even the thought of it truly scares me. That itself is an indication that I have some residual love for him and there still is hope for our relationship. So I will make sure I cling onto the last bare threads holding up our friendship. I will not let go.

Which brings me to the thought this post started with. This was a status message I had put on my facebook page and someone thought it should be shared on my blog as a post.

“It is very easy to love the thought of a person or the way you fantasied them to be but equally difficult to love the real deal sans a constant effort to change it for the better; to love that petty person with his own insecurities, flaws, shortcomings and peculiarities. But the fact that they love you back inspite of your insecurities, flaws, shortcomings and peculiarities should be reason enough to continue loving them”

Have you ever been in a similar spot? Would you give a love or a friendship that is fading to a dull shade of over-fimilarity another splash of colorful hope and life? Or would you let things take their own course?
A river to run dry for precious stones to reveal?
What would it be?


A New Theme and An Idea. Suggestions?

I changed my Blog’s theme today(like that is not evident!)

From Flowery white and pink (Chataue) to


monochromatic black and neon (Monochrome)

A very long leap, I’d say. Its like I deserted a log cabin by the stream in some small town in Europe you can’t locate on the map and shifted to a studio apartment on the upper east side of Manhattan overnight.

Now, Is the change from a serene, ,uncomplicated country life to a fast, eventful big city life good? That is one debate I do not want to engage in.
But what I do want to know is:
Is this change good? Please let me know through your comments if this theme suits my blog and its content better than the previous one and is easier to navigate through or not.
There was such great variety to choose from that my mind suffered a minor “not -responding -due – to – overload”. So I chalked down my requirements and it boiled down to this.
Do you like it? Is it boring and plain? Hate it? Please do let me know.
I can revert back to the previous theme or get another one.
You can also suggest a theme if you have one in mind.

Moving on,
I also conceived an idea.
One look at my tag cloud will tell you that there is a single topic center piece to all my writes.. LOVE. And I want that to change. Because consistency, to the point of stagnation, is just not me. Now whenever I write something, I just pick a pen and paper or my mobile and start writing/ typing into it without a clear direction. I just go with the flow and usually end up with something very far from what I may have wanted in the first place.
So, Here is what I thought I will do to help both the repetitive theme problem and the all-over-the-place problem.
I request you, all of you, to give me a few words or themes you want to see me write about. It can be anything you find appropriate or interesting. I will, then, compile a list of 60 such themes/words and write on two everyday over the next one month.
This will ensure that I have something to write about everyday AND do not wander about directionlessly and end up nowhere AND write things that you’d like to read.
Please do leave a few suggestions for the same in the comments.
Thank you in anticipation 🙂

Hope you’re all doing well. The weekend is almoooost here! Got any special plans? Feel free to share. 😀

Keep spreading the love.
Carpe Diem.

How are you today?

I got an e-mail this morning from an old friend. We went to school together but since then we’ve both gone our own seperate ways in life which do not have a common focal point at all. I wont lie and say that I have made any special effort to stay in touch with him. I have not. Neither has he. And I will not use my busy schedule as an excuse for the same. It is just that with time priorities change. Mine have, so have his.
But this one e-mail made me stop and think.
It was just intended to ask me How I was doing and if everything was fine. For some unexplained reason, it felt so good to know that he took some time off to ask me how I was. We’re all so held up in our own lives all the time that we forget to just stop and genuinely ask people How they’re doing and care about it. All human relationships have become a means to reach some end. Where is the time when friendship used to be selfless and pure?

So, This post does not contain any fancy philosophy or sad poetry.
Just a question from me to you that I realised I should ask more often…

How are you doing today?

Though its a bit late for this but I hope you had a nice, relaxing weekend and the week started on a good note for you. If it did not, dont worry. Take some time to sit back and unwind. I hope everything turns out to be just fine.
Carpe Diem.

PS: Try reaching out to an old friend today. It may just take a few minutes of your time but you wont know how good it will make the recipient feel.
If you already have, did it make a difference to your life and re-kindle your friendship?

Will you lend me my own to keep?

Will you lend me
two smiles and a sigh?
I want to grow wings and fly.

Will you lend me
a verse and some rhymes?
I want to be a lie and shield to your crimes.

Will you lend me
three days and a night?
I want to be a scene and a sight.

Will you lend me
a morsel and some wine?
I want to be artsy and shine.

Will you lend me
some knifes and a paper?
I want to be a muted poet and a shaper.

Will you lend me
a carpet and some dust?
I want to be a candlestand to sit and rust.

Will you lend me
some guilt and some pain?
I want to be a clever charmer and a dab of vain.

Will you lend me
drops of rain and frost?
I want to be the love found and lost.

Will you lend me
an emotion and some fire?
I want to be an irony and satire.

Will you lend me
Someone not yours to keep?
I want to be alone and never again meek.

Will you lend me
My own ?

Will you?