The Silence of My Voice

You tan my heart, as the sky flushes I licked the rain when your tears wouldn't feel wet anymore, Do you yearn only when you reach rock bottom, Or you remember that crookedness only for the way the light at dusk bounced off of it? You mislaid to sweep the debris of who you were, left on my bed last night, And, I stopped writing your story, not because I ended it, but because it was time, And, as you kept falling, it was quicker to imagine my life without you in ten minutes,  Than to wholly live them, The ratification for all that you feel, Your deprivation of compassion when the twigs let you go, Between the bosque, and the groves, The shrubbery, and the firewood, I hewed you out of my words, I blotted your skin with my ink, Give me something to scribble, give me something to scatter, I wore your moods, and I lugged your hopes, I dwelt on your dreams, and I walked atop your thorns, You hoped for love, knowing death still lurked, For you found this life every twilight, much les...

Last day. This is my fifth BlogMas. I didn't realize until today that I've been doing BlogMas for five years, out of the seven years that I've had this blog. 2018, and 2019 have been grating teachers. Which made this year, I reckon, a lot more personal, and arduous to put into words. This year has been a lot more about listening to myself, and accepting that it's okay to need, and ask for help. I've known flaws, and true intimacy. I've known comfort, and fear. I've known courage, and shamelessness. Everything from 2018 bled into 2019, and these two years just made for one excruciatingly long year. And, for all that these two years taught me, I can't wait for BlogMas 2020, and all that I'll be sharing here. It taught me that I can't go it alone always, though. You need people to salvage your story. We're unknowingly, and unhesitatingly playing a part in a lot of others, and we need to let others play their part. Aid that process, don't...

The law of attraction works only for what you want, not for what you need. My dreams are almost always more of a warning. We are always missing someone. Without fail. I regret not taking more pictures. If it feels like something is stopping you, really stop. And, breathe. I am a snob, and I'm okay with that. I still think people almost always never truly admit to their feelings, or surrender to them. I don't give up, and it's colossally unfruitful most times. I observe too much, and I remember too much. It's creepy after a point. I feel sorry too soon, and too unjustifiably. I love everything too easily. But, I don't fall in love with it. I have too many memories, too patented to share. Kissing helps. Always. I like people who bring out the worst in me. It's not a side I meet often. Nothing makes you appreciate your own company than a disastrous day. The fact that anyone needs healing, is not matter to be taken lightly. Never stop asking questi...

Hello. I had yearned, and sought to be a lot of things; some of them I became, some of them I realized I already was, some of them I didn't, and some, which weren't even a part of the list, but I morphed into anyway. And, one of them was a me, I didn't recognize. One that was furious with herself, for even rousing in the morning. There were days I found it crippling to be human. I wanted to mould a bubble, and be unattached from the world, for the time being. Even more gruelling is to be cemented in the conundrum of indecision to do whatsoever about it. These days felt as if my brains were being perforated with a corkscrew. Worse is the denial, about needing help. That denial is also about not having enough gall to admit to the ones closest to you, that you indeed do lack help. Which is problematic because after a point, you begin to believe in it vehemently. There were instances, though. Daily. On my way to work, or alone in a train compartment late at night. The mis...

Hello. For people who've been together for eons, I think the I-love-yous are just a stimulation. I don't think a lot of that has to do anything with the need to be loved. It's more to be cocksure that love still exists, as if there'll always, at least, be hope. There will always be some reserve fuel. Which makes me ponder, albeit different for everyone, what is that particular junction when people stop themselves from falling in love, and rather be in love. The point at which their self-esteem doesn't take a hit, at falling weak in front of them. The junction through which they resolve to compartmentalize their affections, and caching the residual. The junction when they build a mental barrier to make themselves, and the other person, that belonged together only in a certain period in the relationship, a souvenir. The verge of doom, after which they can never possibly fall back in love, or change the past.  The cusp when reached, they tell themselves, "Don...

Hello. There's nothing much to say, and there's nothing much to share, The country is in peril, and it's still standing together. By the end of this year, this country might not be as we've known it anymore, But it'll still be ours. The hum of our mundaneness will soon return, But don't forget the fire in your belly you felt on being an Indian today. There'll be more things in life that you'll care about, But don't forget how much you potentially cared for this, for only you believed in it. They say the truth can't be concealed, So, remember that the world is standing with you. Those who say the truth, claim it with pride, Those who say the truth, have never had to hide, Only the wrongdoers will ever ask you for a chance, And, in an air pregnant with righteousness, how do they even survive? More tomorrow. Until then. Artist: Ryan Rumbolt Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, A.

सोचता हूँ कभी फुर्सत में, वह फ़ज्र की अज़ान से 'इशा की अज़ान तक, कहीं छुपी हुई बचपन में सर्दी के कोहरे से छटी हुई, वह कहानियाँ जो मैंने लिखी नहीं, उनको याद करता हूँ, पहली टूटी हुई नींद से पहली ईद तक, यादों में संभाली हुई दुनिया को याद करता हूँ | थी एक दुनिया जहाँ इंसान मिला करते थे, थी एक दुनिया जहाँ इंसान जिया करते थे, दिखते कुछ अलग तो नहीं थे, पर बातें ज़रूर किया`करते थे, कुछ आज कल मिलने वालों की तरह अधूरे वादे नहीं किया करते थे, बिना हाथ लिए बन्दूक, थोड़ी हँसी बाँट लिया करते थे , पड़ जाती हैं उंगलियों पर डंडे आज कल, भूल जाता हूँ कि दाएँ से बाएँ अब लिखा नहीं करते | अम्मी कहती है की उसे अब अम्मी न बुलाऊँ, लोग वरना ज़रा ज़्यादा घूरते हैं, कहती है एक कश्मीर था, याद करती है कि खूबसूरत था, कमाल की बात है पर, आज कल कुछ छन्नी जैसा ही दीखता है | सोचता हूँ कभी फुर्सत में, वह फ़ज्र की अज़ान से 'इशा की अज़ान तक, उन गुम्बद में नमाज़ के बाद, गूँजती हुई हँसियों को याद करत...

Did you enjoy watching the movie Rang De Basanti? Or Sarfarosh? How was Raazi? And, Uri? And, Mangal Pandey? Bhagat Singh? Roja? Bombay? 16 December? Remember all of them? Any similarity that strikes between all of them? They are movies based wholly, or loosely on riots, protests, and revolutions that have already happened in our country. Give it a couple of years, and you'll have 16 December 2.0, outlining everything that has happened. And, again, people will walk out of theatres feeling proud to be Indian, filmmakers earning hundreds of crores, but not utilising any of it to aid the people of the country who they keep portraying in the movies - because really the characters need to have a spine, and show some conviction, which the actors lack. That movie will also have an item number to keep the patriarchy alive. They'll show the villainous politician having a change of heart in the end for an expected Bollywood Happy Ending, because people need hope and th...

Hello. Just ten days to Christmas. 2015 was the first BlogMas year, while I was still in college, and through the years 2016-18, I was working. There was always a deadline, or a holdup with a few days every year. I used to post by a couple of days late, but I've always covered through the backlogs.(big wonk here, this is unhealthy)  This year, no pressure, no deadlines, no delays with the posts, and let me tell you this was more tedious than the previous ones because I've been steady. Daily blogging is no joke. There's been certainly more urgency in making sure there's enough ease for me to share as much as I can through the posts, everything that's been going on in my life for the year. When you miss a day, there's always an undertone of guilt you feel, while contemplating about the many things you wanted to write about. And, that indirect guilt made finding content to talk about relatively easier.  But, as the tradition of every BlogMas goes, I'l...

Hello. There are a certain kind of days to persist through, which change us as humans. Although, life-altering, there should be a special place in hell for the reasons all of us have had such days, inanimate or not. These happen to be the kind of days which you have to wing unescorted, regardless of how badly you itch for someone to just be present for their lenity. These also are the days, the degree of which really help you in registering certain relationships that are paramount for you to guard, for life. Energies, and connections work brilliantly, in that case.  It's not an indubitable thought that your emotions will always work in tandem with your energies, to accommodate them. But they'll never work against it. If you're alone, it's because it's elemental that you're indispensable for yourself first.  Looking back on the days in the past decade, or so, which I know have positively changed me as a person, the only inference I draw from it is how g...

Hello. There was a day when I felt bloated with everything that was going on around me, and I needed a release. So, I called my friend (read: Rookie), and asked him to tell me a song that would make me cry. I knew he would get why I, and in what disposition I was asking this favour of him. It was only a matter of time until I began weeping after listening to the song a few times. And, often, that's the virtue of music, the asymmetry of its comprehension. I listened to that song for about four times in a row, and each time it reminded me of something different, it made me feel something different, and it meant something different. (feels like I need to make up my mind about a lot of things) I also think I need to get my priorities sorted. (Joke, but just) Since then, if I ever feel I'm in a situation where I have a precarious hold on myself, and it's only a matter of chancy time until I kick my own self into a grave of mishaps, I go back to that song. There are alway...

Hello. Has the brevity of anybody's actions or nuances called out to you? We come across thousands of people in our lives, and I've always found it supremely intriguing how people move. The way they pull the chair out. The way they hold their pen. The intensity with which their fingers become animated while their hands move to compensate for the lack of intelligence in their words. The way they hold a pen, adjust their glasses or twirl hair out of their faces. The way some people become flushed while smiling. There are unending times I've seen multiple people, who mostly aren't even aware of the other one's existence, gesticulating identically. What if, there are more people of the same kind who actuate in the same way as opposed to other? What if, this is a human classification we're just not yet cognisant of? I wonder if there are certain gestures that are more attractive, or more irksome, or please you quicker. And, what becomes of stationery people? ...

"Everything about you separates you from the people in my life" You said it'll be gnarly, you said it'll be chaotic, But it'll be a ride, You said there'll be longings, you said there'll be greed, But that we'll make it a party, You said I need to give, you said I need to deplete, But it'll be all in good taste, You said you need to lament, you said you need to bruise, But only because monsters need the most spooning, You said you're warped, you said I was abundant, But it all was not unreal, You said it's not all games, you said I'll do the hurting, But no one really had a conspicuous plan, "Only because I've chosen you to hurt me" You said "I'm His Girl", you said you'll serenade me, But there wasn't even an orthodox departure, You said there'll be gestures, you said there'd be plants, But all I felt was belittling, You said there'll be time, you sai...

Hello. There are memories that will easily collapse in the palm of your hands occur sporadically. And, how beautifully brittle are these things? And, how easily these things make you hopeful for more of these evocations? And, isn't that the purpose they serve? To create genres of hopes to have us eternally believe in magic happening? There's a memory for me, of contentment and, of woe. I've never felt placidity that rivalled the one I felt each time I was home, all by myself. Prior to that, I'd never fathomed just how enervating a mechanism it is to make a house feel like home. It is, truly, just another feeling. There's no modus operandi that to take place. As evolved beings, we always compensate for lack of normality with objects. Not until I emptied that apartment, did it dawn on me that I hadn't found the need to add in a lot of compensations in it. It simply grew on me, and turned into a home. I can unambiguously point the definite moment when that ha...

Hello. Location: Naladehra Growing up, I've spent a lot of my vacations in mountains. Arriving at them was always shadowy, but dazed feeling always settled inside of me. It wouldn't be until much later that I would notice other people reliving a twinning fuzziness while describing their favourite place. And, that's what favourite places do - they tear you apart. Since I was old enough to cogitate my veins, I realised that the mountains made me want to be left unchaperoned, while also making me want to make someone see what I was seeing. The way you'll always be breathless by the view that awaits you at every crook of a mountain road, is exactly what it does to my insides. There's no fulfilment that rivals the one I feel each time I reach the mountains; and, there's no helplessness that rivals the one I feel each time that slope gradually ends, and I land on two feet on a loathsome land of uninspiring views. The snow, the nip in the air, the bonfires...

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...

Hello. I frequently wonder how did we become immaculate at being silent? Possibilities are an infinitely scary thing. Even scarier, when hidden under silences. Each of us have an array of possibilities of who all we could really be, what all we could really do. All of us, at some point, have abrogated our ideas with the mundane connotation of  'some day'. At the end of every day, we're all that's left with ourselves, with all the eurekas we're hiding in the bookmark bar. The amount of paper boats which landed in a bin with my eurekas are innumerable. And, I regret being nescient, by not ever caroming them off of people around me. Such as yourself, people aren't the same everyday either. All of us grow by varied degrees everyday - but we do grow. If at all, you can't define what you were in this past year, I'd say you've grown enough to not be boxed in by stiff descriptions. I can say this, for when I look back on the past year, there aren't...

I've had a winter, The unprecedented ones, The ones, after which you face,  no qualms, Adjusting to the banality of the next one, The ones with exhilarating perilousness, And an absence of commonality, And, oh, the liability of the perfect! The ones with no ambition, With only the humour of expectations, The ones that never make it to poems, Because it's like blood, For those with amnesic tastes & a middling craving, The ones where the salt from their eyes, Weigh in on the long letters, The weight of which your postbox barely upholds, The ones, that makes them wary, Of where the urgencies lie, The ones where you never have to choose, The ones where the sunsets count, the breakfasts don't, The stories count, the sex don't, The looks count, the words don't, The ones with porous promises, And presents wrapped of lovelessness, The ones where the blistering answers collar the questions, And the questions are direly ta...

Hello. I'm quite tightfisted with my will to verbalize how I really feel about someone. To a degree, I'm covetous about all things intangible. I've barely met a handful of people who understand this about me without the utterance of that first word. I've often wondered if this would ever be an issue for my accession as a person, and as a part of any relationship. I've been fearful of becoming immune to feeling at all because of my lack of exposition on the matter. I have been aggravated, and cross with people. However brawny these emotions are, they're conjectural, and have minutely anything to do with the person concerned itself. This has more to do with susceptibility.  Someone asked me a long time ago if I'd ever been in love. The only sally I could offer, was that I don't really know what it means for me. At that time, it was partly true, and partly a fib. The latter wouldn't be something I would fathom until much, much later, to be grossly...

It was a few years ago that I wrote Wadjet (you can read it  here .) It's one of the pieces that's closest to my heart, amidst a few. 2013-14 was a period in my life when I really came across myself. It was the point where the teenager in me had begun to dumb down and morph into someone who was awaiting to be found. Those couple of years was the beginning of me putting myself out there - for judgement, love, hate, friendship and everything insignificant amidst all of that. I was at the crossroads where I couldn't push myself enough to be a part of a camaraderie, or be on my Jack Jones, either. I feel, for the sake of our own sanity, our minds are perpetually on the mend, so it'll always engineer a way for us to be eased into anything peculiar.  During that time, the only person I ever went out with, was myself. College drives, cafes, foggy morning walks, dates with myself, movie for one - I met people, I saw people. And for the first time, I saw myself, and reall...