The Silence of My Voice

Hello. Why do we need to begin anew, Why do we clean our slates? Why do we not desist? Why do we feel all the magic? Why can't we fondle that magic? Why are we aching, And when does the soreness ease? Why do we always meet at point zero? Why do we always fetch for those letters? Why can't we unlearn? Why is there an ending, And why don't we just know? Who's going to be beat my dragons? Where's my fairytale? When is it over? When does it become a memory? Do you have minor, unnoticeable feelings? Do you feel in ways where you shatter worlds? What are all these questions, And who's giving the answers? When does the grieving stop? When does the healing start? Do you tell a fib to yourself? When are you ingenuous? Are you diffident? Do you take care of your vulnerabilities? What time is it, And, why are you sleepless? Why are you weary? Why do you tuck away your scars? Why are you combative? Ho...

Conflicting identities attract. All the time. We don't recognise this until we crave the same badge, we found irksome initially, by someone who wears it all the time. And unintentionally, you end up making each other's life just slightly more beautiful. Sometimes you find the indescribable valour to be a person you're needed to be for someone else, but never found the strength to do it for your own good.  One of the most innate quirks about people I find unendingly admirable is their skill to achieve and stay in the shadows. Some come out freely and prefer to shine under the spotlight, and there's nothing wrong with that either. But the propensity to be centred, and move from a thought to the next, one milestone to next while unassumingly to do better of yourself is exquisite. There'll always be a tonne of conversations we have with people where we know the same things, we speak on the same things, but rarely when you talk just to be able to listen to what the oth...

Hello. It's Day One. So this year I've decided to talk to people I know who've influenced my life, or the changes in them and take something from them to write about. It could be something I share with them, or something that has affected them or impelled them to undergo a reform. I start this one with Vami, for whom looking within has begun to mean a lot more. In a city where everyone pencils in their day around local train timings, everyone is living in a playlist they created for themselves. Only, most of us forgot to uncheck the repeat button. We wake up everyday, with either alacrity or bitterness, and rerun through the loop. We, though, don't wake up to ourselves.  Struggles come in a lot of different forms for everybody. And this is something that keeps most of us up in the middle of the night. Work, money, love, drugs - name it. And there are some of us attempting to run away from ourselves to avert any confabulation about the same. But I figure abscondi...

Hello. It's Day Seven! For anybody who thought, like last two years, yesterday's was the post that I missed as a ritual. I didn't. I'm here. I also wasn't here last night because work. Always. I feel like my work is my Lily Potter. And it is quite heady. Unstoppable hours of work at an end is another rush altogether. But not when you're overdosing on caffeine. And this is definitely something that changes you. And your bias towards a certain recipe that works for you. Disposing yourself for mental and physical work for so long morphs you as a person. It does concern me however, sometimes that over-working myself does hold me back from being 100% of what I want to be. But then everyone, in any scenario, are not the same person they were. And for me, the scariest thing in this world is the possible ambiguity of knowing or not knowing if you gave your work your all. Nobody knows what will hit them in life or how much time each one of us has. For now, do what yo...

Hello. It's Day One! It's been quite a few months since I wrote  Ink . It's been quite a year up until now, I dare say. I'd also rather actually not, considering my life sets itself up as an appropriate illustration for, if there's ever a book to be written, about the unexpected. This year has most sufficiently (I don't know for whose benefit), has run by me like a speeding train.  2016 couldn't pass any slower, and 2017 just wouldn't halt. The velocity with which it went by, makes me feel as though if I look back, it'll all be painted up in a big, black blotch. Funny, that it isn't. It's really has been one of the most memorable years of my life. It falls under the category of one of those years where every occurrence only led to something else - more and better, or diminishing or worse, are two different stories altogether. It almost felt like I was back in the space where I was halfway through college. I had routine. I had familiar...

Why, peter out from labelling my opaque coffee so sinister, when it's your breaths that constantly obscure its fidelity to me. Same breaths, your husky breaths, which wrote stories like Braille over my shoulders I still read. And stop secreting behind the book when you clearly are thinking about licking the wetness that has cascaded down my throat and is snuggly leaning off my cleavage - which would still blush of you. And my chest would swell from the slightest prompting of your voice. Stop rummaging hands through your hair! They're tethering my heart and lungs in multitudes of knots inside my chest. I remember the time my hands shuddered from tugging at your hair as they perused through all your apprehensions. Did you just scrutinise me why I think you did? I know. I remember this song, too. It's the one you raged out on my throat to dampen the fire in it, which smouldered with a flame, but no smoke. And your foxy eyes, are always a different colour - darker, whenever y...

Away. It is my favourite place to be. Away can sometimes be far enough from your current state, creating differences with it, while even saturating certain gorges. Away can be anywhere, and howsoever far you wish for it to be. It can even be the simple(or complex) expanse of the two verges of your bed, or even as far as the void between rapture and inferno. The more recurrent your stopovers at away, the better. You don't find your aways. You always know it deep down where it actually is, how the map to that place is stretched out. You have yourself at utter disposal there to what the world has got to offer to you. Remote from pandemonium. Such is the power of away that it makes you hallucinate it to be an abyss. An abyss you want to fall prey to, and not because it's enticing. But, because it's beautiful - not in it's own prospect, but the entirety of it. It'll show you only what you can feel. It's distant from the mere grasp of out our delectably fragile paws....