Monday, December 30, 2013

The Chapter of My Life - Twenty Thirteen.

As the curtains are being drawn and the year is nearing its end, I curl up in my blanket, play my favorite music and flip back the pages of this chapter of my life.

The story of getting published for the first time and watching my name on paper back gleaming silently among big reputed names. That pride which pervaded on my mother's face when I stood on the stage with many other talented poets. Ah! It was priceless.

The story of pestering my parents to allow me to live my passion to travel and experiencing some of the most breathtaking moments of my life. My first vacation with a bunch of friends!

The story of wearing a scarred face that wrested my confidence and crushed it to death and then gradually walking on the road of recovery and coming out as an even more beautiful person. I can look into the mirror and feel good about myself, again. And by all means, I have deserved it.

The story of watching a loved one turn into a wisp of memory lingering in our lives and learning that this reality is just as transient as you, me, our smiles and tears are. I learned that you don't have to be old to be strong and wise, you can be as young as nine and be stronger and wiser than all around you. The time when I watched my brother breathe his last breaths with unflinching calmness, I felt my heart pump nothing but sheer dread in my veins. I watched him lie there, fighting with fucking cancer while I curled up in agony within my fragmented sighs because I could do nothing. I was but a helpless soul flapping restlessly to find some solace, just a little scoop of solace to comprehend what was happening around.

I wish that day was a haze to me. I so wish!

This life, it is a big, scary labyrinth. We are but puppets crawling around in spirals which ultimately ends up in the same destination. I was literally surprised to see that people who call themselves my close friends, lurked behind the facade of a busy life or some other make believe crap when I badly needed a shoulder to cry on, when I wanted to kill my daunting fears and give an outlet to my feelings, layer by layer. I never confronted them. Never felt the need to do so!

-Charles Bukowski

It's really funny how the aftermath of one big accident can strip off so many beguiling lies which you've been living for long. But then again, isn't it better that those beguiling lies finally stand naked and one can leave them all behind and start afresh? Well, yes, it sure is.

With nth number of ups and downs, this chapter of my life comes to an end. Hope for a less bumpy new year for myself and for you dear reader. I never say this but you are way better than many of these people around because you listen to my woes and musings with utmost patience and stay by my side always.

Thank you for being real to me.

A very happy new year.


Friday, December 27, 2013

27th of December it is.

Semester exams got over today. I am through with the 7th semester of Law (Still three more to go..gosh!) And also with the Game of Thrones. Yes, I finished all three seasons during my end semester exams, that is how gripping it is.
I don't like gore. I don't like excessive violence. I don't like to watch trauma or an hour long episodes, yet I finished it within two weeks. No wonder I have blind faith in the rating of imdb. However, I strongly believe it is no less then a sin to make the viewer wait for so long before the next season is aired and create a whole ambiance of unwanted suspense. I so want to know what happens next, right now! Ugh.
Perhaps this is one of the main reasons why novels are better than movies or serials.

Well, it is not going to give me any peace at the moment. But what might give me some peace is the fact that it is 27th of December again. I love, adore, cherish this date like hell. It is and shall always be super close to my heart. A little too sentimental na! Let's keep mum now.

Okay, I'm done blabbering.


Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Tell Me Your Story

While we lie down together on the light creases of bedsheet. I have never liked creases. And I would never do. But when you tell me your story, there is not a thing in this world which can strip me off the attention. I lie close to you, our heads touching slightly, as you whisper your story in my ear. I listen raptly. My arms are stretched upright in the blackness, with a slight bend and fingers dance artlessly, the way I do a lot, while my mind tries to picture your words and the people living in those words, giving them countenances and enlivening them in the nicest manner. 

So tell me more.

Tell me the things which made you the happiest when you were as young as five, the fears, the inhibitions which you had and how you nipped them off as you grew up, the dormant moments of embarrassment which nobody else knows or remembers apart from you. Those cute little lies, those wicked ideas which popped in your head almost all the time. Share with me how you spent the evenings when you were young and alone, a lifetime ago. What kept you busy, I would so love to know. How you devised new pranks and how you executed them. I want to know it all. I want to laugh with you till my stomach hurts and hear the subtle confluence of our echoes. So tell me your story.

The labyrinth of adventures and misadventures, the snippets of love and hate, the unfathomable bouts of melancholy and the ethereal moments of breaking free, the times you failed to devolve coherence out of life, and the times of incessant rush of butterflies in your stomach.

Tell me as we sit here in the sun and I tilt my head slightly to the right, resting the temple on the palm of my hand because I'm so engrossed in those words pouring out of your mouth, those profound and resonating words. I want to keep them with me, some place surreptitiously close so that I can read them again and again. I'm so engrossed in your story that I forget about the hot tea which has been sitting amidst us, for a while. It has lost its steam and now rests still, like a warrior without his armor. You stop for a while to tell me that my eyes are glinting like a kid's. You stop, to push back a few strands of hair hanging with svelte along my left cheek. I smile.

Tell me your story.

And maybe I could be a part of it too. When you struggle in times of making delicate decisions, I could share my thoughts with you. When after an infinitely long day of hopelessness, you come home, I could make you lie on my lap and move my hands smoothly through your hair. When you are in one of the happy moments of your life, I could be there and be a part of your happiness or even better, I could be the reason lurking behind your happiness. Or in those times when you stay up all night and cry to yourself. I could be there to offer you a shoulder. And hush you back to sleep. And silently, I would watch your eyeballs move to and fro as you dream and a smile would slyly place itself on my lips. You'd snore and I would smile a little more.

And years later, when you are old, with grey hair and a fragile body and would sit with your children, your beautiful daughter and handsome son, tell them about me. Would you? About my idiosyncrasies, about my veiled passions, about my habit to make my fingers dance artlessly in the air, about the glint in my eyes and about the sound of my giggle. Because that day my story would begin.

From you.

In your words.

Friday, December 13, 2013


Let's collect words. Let's collect words of mesmerism and passion. Of how a soft rush of wind plays with a tuft of hair coming out of the woolen cap. Of being tucked away from the world's madness for a while, closely in the arms of the mother. Of the moment cold feet gently kisses the warm grass beneath. Of holding tight a hot cup of tea with cold, slender fingers. Of taking in the intoxicating smell of books, stories and snippets, old and new. Of enjoying breath vapors on a chilly winter day. Of basking in the sunshine and watching your pet keep its head on your lap. Of the first few driblets of water that touch the parched palate. Of the insignificant laughter and echoes that follow you in the depth of the night. Of being a daisy while everyone else is just a rose! Of leaving blissful imprints in others' lives. Of those few moments of peace when you saunter slowly down the street, sublimely soaked in the rain. Of talking about epiphanies of our lives with people who belong to us, only us. Of the overwhelming aftermath of making sweet love and sinking in his chest to hear the deep pulsating sound. Of feeling beautiful even though you see a scarred face, smiling back innocently in the mirror.

Of unbeknownst miseries that may lie ahead and also, of the cloudless yet surreal present that has been unwrapped for you to give life another chance.

So shall we, love?

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Randomness in Six Bullets

  • The big hullabaloo of elections in my city ended on a very apprehensive note. Though on one side, I thoroughly enjoyed watching our very dear Sheila Dixit wear a glum face and utter 'Hum to bevakoof hain na', the nail biting competition between BJP and AAP did not come to clear end. It is hard to bear the curiosity any further, which is why I feel a little frustrated.
  • Remember a year ago, I wrote about one of my classmates getting married? Well, the O-Em-Gee news is that she gave birth to a baby boy, a couple of days back. Extremely fertile, no doubt and I remember one of my blogger friends warned me of this day. I had never thought it would arrive so soon. My classmate!!! She is married and a mother of a boy. A mother, I repeat. And I am just Twenty One.
  • How do you respond when one fine day you open your Facebook account and find 78 notifications from an acquaintance who has liked raided your profile and albums completely??? #creep >.<
  • The Supreme Court has highly disheartened me and many of my fellow Indians today. It was nothing less than a shock to read about the latest judgement which has criminalized homosexuality. What in the world is wrong with the Apex Court?? It's such a shame that in my country marital rape is legal while consensual sex between two adult homosexuals is not.
  • Coming back to the virtual world, I don't know why most people on Facebook are so engrossed in making their personal comic strips which is nowhere near to being hilarious. I don't think it is too hard to understand for a man of average intelligence, how lame these Bitstrips are. I'm being cynical, yes and I like it.
  • I have started watching the series 'Game of Thrones'. Wanted to know what the fuss was all about and also because imdb has rated it 9.4. So far it has kept my interest intact.

P.S: Iloveyou for being a reader of Mirage.
Happy 11-12-13.

Monday, December 2, 2013


It's been a while since I last updated anything apart from poetry. There are many things which I had on my mind. One of them was about my short visit to Lansdowne, this year in end September.

Lansdowne is a small, cantonment hill station located in Uttarakhand. The fact that it is a cantonment area makes this place even more clean, fresh and peaceful, unlike other hill stations. It is covered with unending alpine forests and picturesque view of majestic mountains.

As mentioned above, I visited this place in late September and the weather was nearly perfect. We (which refers to me and my cousins) chose our personal car as the mode of travelling. Started in the early hours, we managed to touch the town around 2 in the afternoon with the help of reliable GPS and kind people all over India.

en route... just a few kms before the destination.
And that's my brother's hand.

The hotel where we stayed was 'Fairydale', situated near the main market. Like many other residences of military colonels, it is a huge bungalow converted to a hotel which kept the homely ambiance intact. The food was good, the staff was courteous, oh, and they had an adorable Labrador who, unlike Frodo, spent his time meditating nonchalantly and basking in the sunlight instead of drooling over everyone's lunch table. Clearly, he was on another level.

What I loved the most about Fairydale were its rooms. We had one master bed on ground floor and the other one went upstairs and ended in an extremely cozy haven like compound. I remember how I was left with the widest smile that day, the moment I climbed upstairs and snuggled deep inside the thick blanket.
After all, this is what one craves for, after a looong hectic travelling.

And so the holiday began.

You see her? The girl in  pink track pants? Yes, that's my little cousin Mishti.

cozy cocoon.

The mornings we witnessed were wrapped in dense fog and absolute silence. Perhaps this is the reason why Lansdowne to me is a perfect harborage of quietude.

Earlier I had thought that taking our car wouldn't be a good idea because of the exhaustion it would cause. But honestly, it was the best decision. We had independence and privacy in a new city where one is usually dependent on the cab or bus driver. I thoroughly enjoyed our long walks in dense morning fog, through the alpine forests and then chilling for a while in the middle of nowhere while we knew we had no reason to rush. It was fun. Not the usual kind, but I did enjoy those happy moments.

This moment, right there, it was scary and calm at the same time.

A very famous church and utterly gorgeous too.
Let me share a little secret. I had never ever been to a church before. No wait. I did, once, in Goa. But the problem was that it wasn't structured in a traditional manner. It was hemispherical in design while I always wanted to visit the one where there is a narrow aisle and two paralleled seating arrangement on both the sides, the usual movies wala church. So my silly desire was finally fulfilled in Lansdowne.

After the church visit, we went up to the highest point, referred to as Tip-in-Top. It was drizzling and we were cold so we could't stay out in the open for long. But we did enjoy tea, pakoras and played carom.

Tip-in-Top point.
Aren't we adorable?!!!

Tea and pakora time. And yes, it was elaichi wali chaai. ^.^
By the way, most of these pictures are clicked by Mishti.
Not me!
Don't judge by his concentration. I won the queen. Wuhooo!
By the time it was evening, we retired to our beds and started the best part of the journey..a never ending game...Monopoly!!! To say that it was the charm of our trip, is and would always be an understatement. Period.

The next day was lazy. We started off late. It was just too hard to leave that beguilingly warm bed, okay! And also because there isn't much to visit in Lansdowne. Apart from a couple of churches and tip-in-top point, there is a picnic spot, highlights of which are boating in an artificial lake and a small children's park. Lansdowne is ideal for those who want a weekend getaway from Delhi or some nearby area. You don't need more than two to three days to devour the beauty of this place.

A family of definitely more than 10 people hopped onto this poor bridge 'together', while we were crossing it. Gosh!

And the entire trip, in a nutshell.

P.S: Did I ever mention how dearly I wish to be a travel blogger? And that I've had dreams of travelling to far off lands and breath-taking places, with a small pretty diary in hand and a camera hanging around my neck? Like literally.
It's normal, right?

Saturday, November 30, 2013

"I suspect the truth is that we are waiting, all of us, against insurmountable odds for something extraordinary to happen to us."

- Khaled Hosseini
And The Mountains Echoed.

Thursday, November 28, 2013


The last lingering
breath of the night
ruffles through
my cascading hair,
carrying the scent of
waters and cold sand.

You nudge me,
on the shoulder
and break my trance

To bid goodbye
to moon glade
as the dawn
gradually devours.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013


Let me be a child today.

I need a bucket
full of innocence
to walk ahead,
having no doubts..

where I'm heading to,
and where should I stop.

Allow me, to be a child today.

Deprive me of the wisdom
of worldly manners
and quickly,
like a snap
break this reality into shards.

Yes, I'm a child today.
Tell the world,
I'll get a tomorrow
to grow up
and to talk mature,

the way it wants.

Or if tomorrow doesn't
show up
this happy child,
would be glad
to die

Monday, November 11, 2013

Be Breathless Till You Find Me

you mistook me, Sir.
I do not reside in the echoes
or debris of the past.
I do not flicker with the city lights,
nor do I rest amidst the seven sins.
I am the unquenchable thirst,
prodding you to begin
     the journey
which shall end within.

Saturday, November 9, 2013


settled gracefully
on the bed of marigold
a wasp rubs its legs

Traditional 5-7-5 pattern.

Monday, October 28, 2013

Diwali :)

Just how happy this corner looks.. :)

Season of blinding lights, candles and diyas, festivity, deafening noise of chakri aur hawaai, bright colors..rangoli, traditional dresses, feeling pretty, mehndi, its intoxicating smell, unfettered happiness, family get togethers, and ah.. Kaju ki barfi!

In a nutshell, Diwali is here.


Wish you all a very Happy Diwali.

And that pretty picture was clicked by me. Thank you!

Summertime sadness- Lana Del Rey

This sexy number is my current love.

Sunday, October 20, 2013

A Passenger.

The morning dew awaits you all night
Put your bare feet down, will you?

A gazillion stars have silence to share
Look up for a while, will you?

Tangible dreams are strewn across the lazy mind
Tie them in a knot, will you?

Brush off the fear of morbid existence.
Pace forward at your own cadence

Be a passenger, set off on a journey.
And meet me someday,
Under the mistletoe, will you?!

For I have outshone the glint of dew
For I have rested in silence of the stars
For I am a passenger,
I carry my tangible dreams
Trail my path,
And I will be your harbinger.

Friday, October 11, 2013


hemmed within the shell
of blackness, complete blackness
   I see silent light
like a hermit's solitude
hovering in a cocoon

This is my first attempt at Tanka.
Like Haiku, it is also a Japanese form of poetry but a lot older in terms of origin. It has five lines extending up to 31 syllables in a pattern of 5-7-5-7-7.

To learn something new on your own, is happiness.

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Sneaking Around the Corner, Winter?

Image Source: weheartit
of winter
crawling up in
a slender motion,
as I snuggle deeper
along tired creases of
ivory sheet. A new day breaks,
brimming with morning blues, hazy dreams.

ACs have stopped being a necessity, fans are just goosebumps nothing, morning showers now give nth chills and shivers, having water straight out of the fridge has stopped being the easiest thing and yes, the mood of festivities and celebrations is spreading happiness everywhere.

Wow..I smell winters, finally! :)

About the poem:
This is a reverse nonet.
A regular Nonet is a nine line poem which has nine syllables in the first line, eight in the second, seven in the third...and ends with one syllable in the ninth line.

My first nonet was published here.

P.S: Did you notice a new page on Mirage? No? Scroll up a little..that's it...there: Published Work
Yuhooooooooooo! xD

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

The Lunch Box: Spoilers Alert.

While returning from the cinema hall today in the evening, my mind jostled in a haphazard stream of thoughts. One moment, I shared the experience with my friends on Whatsapp like how much I loved the movie, its story line, the characters and their unparalleled acting and in the next, I stepped into an oblivion state where I just wanted to contemplate, refusing to get distracted by the presence of a slender old man, murmuring something incessantly and begging for money at the traffic signal or by those little kids offering a stick of rose or sometimes, just their desperate needy look, or even by the light drizzle, highlighted through the head lights of numerous vehicles.
Amidst the noise of a monotonous rushing life, I sat there in an auto, stared into space, in the darkness hovering behind the street an oblivion state, wiped off irrelevant fragmented thoughts and brooded over the beautiful thing I watched. That which made me calm, relaxed even when I was stuck in the middle of Delhi traffic.

The moment I walked out of the movie hall, I knew I was going to write about it on Mirage. But what? Certainly not a review. I'm not really good at reviewing things. I have realized this lately. Moreover, I believe that this movie deserves something better than just a plain two-line review. It was moving, undoubtedly but what was that one thing, if you may ask, that made it so special for me?

The movie was real. Very real! The randomly beautiful it was. The part where the male lead writes about the reason why he spent the previous night watching his late wife's favorite TV show, right there, all I wanted was to keep listening to the remarkable narration. I felt I became was a part of the story. That small apartment with pale walls, the narrow passage where clothes hung on a string, the dining table where the mother secretly read those letters, the kitchen where she cooked delicacies...I lived there. That little girl with two pigtails, jumping carefully across the big puddle to avoid muck on her neat school dress and turning back to wave goodbye to her mother...I was her. I so was! Then, I became her mother...a simple housewife, essaying to woe her husband by making delicious lunch for him but ending up discovering the emotions she always longed for, in her friendship with an old man. The old man who devoured various dishes made by her. And it was all because of a wrongly delivered lunch box or perhaps, rightly received.

There is not a good, satisfying reason to convince that I was able to connect with the main characters but somewhere beneath the story line, realism of the movie struck me more than anything else and made the experience even more fantastic. It was warm and comforting. Yes! Comforting. There was a settling charm in the story which made me feel at ease, kept me intact and gripped till the end. Till that subtle happy end.

Honestly, I don't remember the last time I watched a movie which had such an impact on me...which made me write a long blog post. But I guess, this is the reason why I cherish watching The Lunch Box.

An excellent movie.

In other news, I am leaving for a three day holiday with my cousins to Lansdowne, Uttarakhand, this weekend. Apart from the regular holiday stuff, I shall be carrying a brand new Monopoly. Yes, that super awesome board game which consumed hundreds of hours of our adorable childhood.

Pretty excited, I am. Yay!

Saturday, September 21, 2013

A September Evening

A gorgeous feeling of happiness is racing up the veins as I flip through some old pictures. Looking at my small, geeky face, hair tied back at the nape of the neck, a few strands falling casually on the temple, toothy smile, flashing broken front teeth and striking a random pose. How innocently pretty I look even though I am in a pair of blue bell bottom jeans buttoned up at high waist.

The weather outside makes the moment even more beckoning. Streets are sublimely soaked up in the last rain this monsoon. Black clouds growling as they float past those huge trees across the road, which are smoothly performing a not so coordinated waltz. I see darkness crawling up stealthily in my room as I sit with a bunch of photo albums on my lap and flip through them, caressing a subtle, faint smile. My mind is laden with a bundle of anecdotes and incidents...moments of pristine joy, flashing every second. They oscillate rhythmically creating a fine rhapsody which I could play on forever and never get tired of.

And then, the faint curve turns into a wide smile as this photograph comes up, reveling a fragment of me which had vanished eons ago.

It is a picture of my old, grey colored study table on which I had beautifully doodled so many things.

Losing some shreds
On the graveled path
Of being a woman, a lady
I hear her whisper,
lingering loosely
along the lines of faded yesterday.

I watch her impression..
Her fragmented laughter
grow deep in my skin,
Gradually rebuilding
cryptic patterns
of abandoned love,
slyly calling out my name
in a familiar voice..
Of the novice little girl
I once was.
And then effortlessly
bridging the gap
between two tangents,
my past..
and her present.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Prompt: Wilted

hazy sunshine
brimming over the
wilted daisies

4-5-4 pattern

Written for: Haiku Heights

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Quite legit, eh?

Thursday, September 12, 2013

Prompt: Holy

white foaming rush
shunning aside sins
a holy dip

4-5-4 pattern

Written for: Haiku Heights

Saturday, September 7, 2013

Happy New Look, Dear Blog.

And this is happiness to me.

Lazy Saturdays, this blog, its makeover, the aftermath, the urge to write more every second, Billy Joel's voice reaching to me like never before, light-headedness and not a single worry to entertain.

It is one of those days when everything, gradually begins to fall to place and you are just at peace to see the picture unpuzzle itself.

Friday, September 6, 2013

Yellowed Chapters and That Withered Flower.

For one more time, I saw myself standing there. It was quiet, still and I was alone. The place was familiar, a lot familiar. I have grown up here and I knew this area by heart. But I couldn't comprehend the mystery why I failed every time. It was supposed to be there, I thought. I walked closer. It clouded more. I couldn't see clearly but I was sure it was there. And with the last step, it vanished completely. I ran again, not losing the verve. But I couldn't find the bridge, that small open bridge, which I never knew would be so important to me that I would crave to walk through it once again.

There is this tiny, little, petite part of me which yearns to go back, particularly to the years that I have spent in Kanpur. To my old junior school, to those grey colored pavements, to those big corridors and narrow aisles where we raced in the afternoon with a heavy bag on shoulders to reach first to the swings' section, to the place where that mysterious foot print on the cemented floor was, that place where one of my classmates had thrown sand in my hair. Uh! how much I hated that boy. And then there was this graveyard beside my school, and how we cooked up stories about the dead, and the small botanical garden with just one special attraction: touch-me-not plants.
Then maybe, after a while, I would visit my old home too. That calm old street, Ektapath, that's what it is called. My home, it would be where I had left it but not how I had left it. It might have shrunken by now. But the younger me, would still be embalmed cozily. And I would long to be that girl again. At one moment, she would walk past me with a piece of cloth around her big eyes and hands stretched in search for her friends and then the next moment, I would watch her trying to get to the secret room without any help. My room had a smaller room which ran up the wall adjacent to my bed. Ma used it for storing random stuff. I was short so I had to put up a chair and a stool and a shorter stool to get to that room. And yes, at times I had spunk to do it all by myself. I liked those pink walls. They were mine. Only mine.

Then a noise of laughter would snap me out of the moment. I would rush out and watch the girl playing golf with a random stick and her older brother standing nearby waiting for his turn, probably. The lemon tree would still be there, on that corner. But it might not recognize me. It might not remember how I rejoiced at the sight of so many bright, big lemons falling on wet grass whenever it rained. Neighbors dropping by our place, having an extended chat with ma (she was the charm of Ektapath) and grabbing some lemons from the garden: this had become a routine back then. We had this long stick with a hook on one of its ends. My father had designed it to reach the higher branches of the tree and get lemons by pulling them down. But Bhaiya and I cleverly utilized it as a golf stick. Thus, the game.

After quenching my thirst by replaying such beautiful episodes, I would step out and take a stroll on the old street or I would just sit on that unkempt grass of my garden. I think that would make me feel sanguinely good. That feeling of being finally back home! But what if I would just want to turn around and leave the episodes untouched, unadulterated and an abysmal part of the lost snippets of memories hanging loosely, somewhere in my mind. Just like they have always been.

I am not sure whether I'm ready for an answer yet. But I would like to know the answer, sometime. And when the time comes, I would walk through those grey pavements once again, through those narrow aisles of childhood! I would reach the fogged bridge and cross it without losing it into nothingness. I know the little girl with that piece of cloth around her eyes, may not see me but I think she would be happy to know that I am her older self. And maybe a little proud too.

Even if the chapters have turned yellow, the story residing in them shall always be vivid. And that story belongs to me. Only me.

Picture Source 1
Picture Source 2

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

August to Me: In a Nutshell.

I wanted to write about so many things which happened in the month of August: how beautiful it was, the dark clouds, the happy hair days, the good health and workout sessions and how I looked forward to feel the monsoon kisses every day. But sadly, the month ended up giving me a very disgusting and severe skin infection. It wrested my confidence and grounded me within the four walls. Though the receding phase has begun, the risk has of it getting worse has not subsided and I'm yet to discover my pretty old self again. badly I miss my geeky face.

Anyhow, this post is not about the disease. This is about the things I wanted to share on Mirage, a week back.  A little late I am and it is September, already. Gosh, we are in the 9th month of the year. Where was I  during the whole time?

Busy growing up, probably.

  • After yearning for months, I finally purchased a charming dream catcher with sea green feathers. For those who are not aware of what a dream catcher is, let me give a brief insight. It is a handmade object adorned with a thread in a web like form along with some beads and feathers. As per the Native Americans, the night air is filled with dreams both good and bad. The purpose of a dream catcher is to trap the bad ones in the web and filter down the good and happy dreams through the feathers, to the sleeper. Since, I have a strong connection with chasing dreams of all kinds (from serial killers to savages) I dearly needed it. Also, because it is such a beautiful thing. Here, have a look:

(This is not mine, but yeah you got an idea, right?)

  • One fine day in August, I decided to give my room a fresh look. And this is what I did:
(Creative much, eh!)

(Oh and this too)

  • My dearest brother gifted me a brand new sexy DKNY watch this Rakshabandhan. Eeeeeeeshk!
  • Oh and I bought a pair of 3kg dumbbells. I'm gonna be a strong and pretty lady soon. ^.^
  • It's been more than a month since I earned my first pay check, and I have not yet thought of anything to splurge on. Damn! There are nth number of things which makes me greedy and still I always end up with nothing. Suggestions please. (No party-with-friends suggestions accepted)
  • Hey, I got published AGAIN!!!! The good part is that the magazine shall give away a surprise gift to each published entry. Eeeeeeeshk! Guess, I should make a new page for the whole list of my published work. xD
  • This reminds me of a very important news. One of my blogger friends Phatichar (Sadly, this is what he calls himself in the blog world.) got his own book of spooky tales published by none other than THE Harper Collins publishers. Can you believe it! =)  I have ordered my copy and you guys must do it too. Right now! Here is the link which will help you: Frankly Spooking.
  • Lastly, a Statutory Warning: Do not watch The Conjuring. Period.

Until next time..
Take care dear you!

Thursday, August 15, 2013

A Thought

Before 1947: Ruled by White
After 1947: Ruled by gender bias, corruption, casteism, hypocrisy, inflation and so on

Where exactly is freedom?

Saturday, August 10, 2013

Prompt: Ocean

ocean in those eyes
lurking life within

3-5-5 pattern

Written for: Haiku Heights

Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Elaichi Wali Chaai =)

A whisper of velvety wind is secretly curling up around me as I watch the newly bloomed roses in my veranda. It gives so much pleasure, those bright magenta flowers seem to look right at me with a novel smile. I remember how in summers, I feared seeing my plants wither away in sweltering heat. Every morning I would step out with a hope to see them blossoming and return with a dismal sigh. Gradually, it turned into a sad monotonous routine, like my life.

But today, while I take a sip of elaichi wali chaai, I watch my little babies soaking up the Autumn's love with open arms. Like it's washing away the mountainous sadness which lingered over the leaves for a long time and telling them to breathe again. I listen closely. I keep the cup, my favorite black and yellow cup on the table adjacent to my bed and I listen with rapture, a familiar sound wafting by the wind. I smile! It's calling out my name in a soft voice. I step out in the light drizzle, marooning the coveted thoughts and my lukewarm cup of tea behind. Bare feet, bare mind. It is addictive. This love, this sweet sweet love!

I cave in, yet again.

P.S: I don't remember since when it has become a ritual but to enjoy the rains without holding close a cup of hot cardamom tea, is nearly impossible.  =)

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Prompt: Time

a birthday call
old ties sprout

After so many years, I called up one of my closest friends from middle school with whom I had lost touch because of me shifting to another city. It is her birthday today and I, on the spur of the moment, picked up my cell and dialed her number. Had I thought for a few more seconds before dialing, I would have ended up sending only a text message. Yep, that is how it happens. Just a little more use of brain can spoil the fun. Anyhow, her reaction..ah! It was amazing. It took her some time to digest the fact that I was on the other side of the phone. Sigh.. Old ties, after all.

3-4-3 pattern

Written for: Haiku Heights

Saturday, July 6, 2013

Haiku Prompt - Sand

her pumpkin scarf
sand in eyes

3-4-3 pattern.

Written for : Haiku Heights

Friday, June 21, 2013

A Much Needed Vacation

Untouched roads, mystic river, hidden waterfall, chilling on a hammock, witnessing a shooting star, chasing a glow worm, pleasant weather, majestic mountains all around and a private home stay on the river bed. Sigh!
There couldn't have been a better vacation than this.

At Tirthan Valley, I had the most amazing time of my life. The place was simply beyond my expectations. I feel so blessed to have visited it with friends and experienced nth number of blissful and breath taking moments. Really, who would have thought that I would visit a place which is almost similar to what I used to draw in school - splendidly green mountains, sun peeking from behind, a river and an excluded  river side home.


Tirthan Valley is an off-beat place in Kullu district. It is somewhat like a village lowly populated with warm and friendly localites. For someone coming from Delhi, it is a sheer surprise to receive so much respect and honor from others. We stayed at a home stay as no hotels are permitted. The owner, Khem Bharti did everything to make our trip a success. His main place was almost full so we were accommodated at another place owned by him. The idea of us staying, in a private home which was nearer to the river was scary at first, as we had no idea how it would be from the 'safety point of view'. But to our surprise, it turned out to be the best thing possible.

We slept to the sound of gushing white water and woke up to the heavenly view of the Tirthan river.

Here are some picture of my small beatific vacation.

Chilling on a hammock


The hidden waterfall

Picturesque, isn't it!
My friend caught me off guard.

View from terrace

Tea and pakora time

Double rainbow

P.S : I chilled on a hammock and now I'll strike it off my wish list. Bliss!

Sunday, June 9, 2013

When Writing Heals

About the lost smiles
About the carefree quietness
About those misplaced thoughts
And that feeling of just being together
I would write.

For me, for this naive girl within
I would write.
For the unnecessary dejection
I would sit down in solitude and write.
For the falling of bricks
And not being able to put them back,
For all the sad things this world offers
I would write.

And head back to where I started.
From where the picture looked pretty
No lost smiles, no misplaced thoughts
Pure love. Sweet love.
About this,
I would write.

Because at the end
When all the wrong is done
I shall come back to read
How the things turned right.

Sunday, June 2, 2013

Twenty One!

When I was turning ten, I remember jumping around the house and asking everyone to guess the reason behind my extreme level of excitement. They all gave me that dumb confused look and I, with a big smile, flashed my broken teeth and told them that I'm super happy because I'd be entering into a double digit age number.

Yes, that was the sole criteria for being excited. =')

How strange it is to remember that episode after eleven years. Eleven Years! It takes a while to absorb.

I turn twenty one in a couple of days and God knows, why that little ten year old girl is dancing within me all over again. No lame reason this time, though.
In fact, no reason at all!

So yes, twenty one it is. Excited? Hell yeah! But, very sadly, I'm stuck up with end semester eggjams. If this was not enough, I have the can't-understand-one-single-thing-in-the-subject exam on my birthday. *Why God why*

Anyhow, as my plans of the special day are ruined real bad, I have come up with a better one. This year I'm gonna have an extended celebration.
A nice trip 'with friends' is on my mind. The place is not decided yet but it's going to be someplace so much cooler than my super hot city. And you know what, my mom has, all of a sudden become the coolest. She has been consistently asking me about my plan and  is dearly hoping that this time it is not cancelled or even postponed.
How cool you are mother!

And why am I rambling about all this, one may wonder. Because it is my TWENTY FIRST.

That being said, I'm going to play some good music and shake a leg. 

The girl who is turning 21. 

Saturday, May 25, 2013

From a Friend's Heart

I can never imagine to pen down strong emotions with so much ease and write something as emotive, stirring and compassionate as the following messageNot even a bit close! 
It's an exceptionally beautiful message written by one of the closest friends of my brother who passed away twenty days back after a long and valiant battle with Pancreatic Cancer.
I wish I had enough good expressions to express how I felt after reading it. I wish my brother was alive to appreciate his friend's thoughts. I wish his daughters could know how great their father was. I wish life was less cruel. I wish things were a lot easier. I wish!

Just a small attempt to keep him alive with me here, on this blog.

It’s hard to write an obituary when the subject is arguably your closest friend. Obituaries were farthest from our minds when we met in Goa in March last year. Non-stop laughter was interrupted only when we went down memory lane. Water skiing in the Arabian sea, drawing on hookahs, munching on authentic Italian pastas at the beautiful Arpora Saturday market made it a holiday of a lifetime. And like always there was one guy who was the life of the party. Maddy was full of life and savouring every second of it. All of us will always owe a debt of gratitude to Anupam whose initiative and insistence led to this reunion being held when it was. A month later and it would never have happened and we wouldn’t have had the last opportunity to witness Maddy as we knew him.

Maddy came up with the suggestion that the next reunion be held later in the year. The conservative sorts amongst us were talking in terms of at least a two year gap between reunions to retain the novelty factor. Maddy would have none of it and in the ‘naa meri naa teri’ sprit we agreed to meet in 2013. In hindsight he could perhaps sense that he didn’t have a lot of time left. His body and his mind must have been giving him warning signals because a month later he was diagnosed with third stage pancreatic cancer. 

What followed was a year of intense suffering and pain, but Maddy never lost his dignity. His main partner-in-suffering was his beloved wife Sucharita whose courage in times of adversity can only be admired. Whenever I went to see Maddy, she would greet me with a smile, offer me a cup of tea and never mope or complain. Neither would Maddy. Such dignity in suffering humbles me. Maddy leaves behind Sucharita, two beautiful daughters Anubhuti and Ananya, his parents and his brother Sushant and so many of us who were blessed to be his friends. However Maddy wouldn’t have wanted me to dwell only on the sadness. In fact he was a guy who didn't have too many negative bones in his body. So let me just talk about what he meant to me.

I first met him in Indore in 1994 when we were a bunch of excited twenty somethings hoping to make something of our lives. I was in awe of him. He came from Delhi and I came from a small town in Bengal. He had a funny hairstyle, had attended interviews at all the 4 IIMs (thankfully not cleared them, otherwise we never would have met), spoke with a Punjabi twang and cracked jokes at the drop of a hat. Somehow fate conspired to make us roommates at the fancy sounding Ratlam Kothi. Within a month we pretty much knew everything there was to know about each other. I continued to be in awe of him. Not only was he brighter than me, he was computer literate, read management and self help books and could draw beautifully. I was rubbish at all of this. He would beat the commerce graduates and engineers in the finance and accounts related subjects. And to think of it, he had graduated in zoology! I borrowed all his jokes and retold them as mine. He ruined my language by adding cuss words to my vocabulary which refuse to go even after 20 years. We may have had the odd argument but I can’t remember either of us sulking for too long. He was a little spoilt like all boys are when they have stayed too long at home, but he quickly learned how to (pretend to)wash a pair of jeans. He never quite learned how to make cucumber sandwiches when all of us had run out of money to pay for the mess food towards the end of our stay in Indore. And he could never wake up on time for breakfast. I have to take credit along with our flatmate KK for having kept him and the equally lazy Debu, well fed for the better part of our second year in Indore. Yes breakfast was served on the bed for these gentlemen! It wasn’t all about fun and games though. Maddy could give you the soundest advice when you asked for it. The counselling that Maddy and Debu gave me in a fly infested dhaba over sugary tea changed my life for the better. After Indore Maddy went to Baroda to work in Sun Pharma. I don’t think his heart was in it. He missed his family and his hometown and a combination of circumstances made him return to Delhi where his heart always was. He worked in a few companies and ended up in an IT company which was always his real passion. It was there that he met Sucharita and they teamed up in life as well as in work because Maddy was on his way to becoming an entrepreneur. He always wanted to be his own master and being an entrepreneur suited him just fine. All through these years, we would meet once or twice a year and he would excitedly tell me about his morning sessions of football, about his new found interest in the stock markets and of course about his family. Always gung-ho and generally pleased with life. Even when the business environment was tough during the financial crisis, he would never wallow in self pity. Solid, dependable Maddy.

We became even closer during his fight with cancer as I tried hard to keep his spirits up and to try and soak up some of his pain, his fears and his suffering. For me it was the desperation to hold on to him because I could not imagine a world without his infectious enthusiasm, his laughter and his zest for life. Life will go on and the pain will eventually subside. But there will always be that little void in my life and in the lives of all those he touched, which can never be filled.

Maddy, farewell my friend. You will be badly missed.


P.S: Maddy was his nickname for Madhur.

One of his favorite songs.
Actually, mine too!