A curious cat!

You are a thing not given much thought, a minuscule event that bothered a not-so important day, an unexpected reply from a meaningless chatter. Conventional thinking led to wishfulness, and you began to mean a little bit more. You were an anticipated text in the middle of the night, a boisterous laugh that pleaded to be heard, a movie that had to be seen, a clammy hand to hold. A minute before I met you, I thought I saw the horizons completely. What was expected, what was bound to happen! But, as you are yourself, you came into my life too loud to control. I fancy you as unreasonably beautiful. Your mind, your voice, your laughter , your sadness. And isn’t that astonishing? Just a few months ago, you were just a wisp of a person to me. Your relevance to my life was close to nonexistent. Sometimes the memories are so vivid, although it was a long time ago. And at other times it feels like just yesterday, and everything seems very familiar. Maybe our paths have diver...

People don’t talk anymore. They keep the demons trapped somewhere between the silences that linger around. The small talks that lay over for hours over coffee fails the effortlessness mask of curiosity. There is a ringing of laughter and a string of unkempt giggles that compliment the verbal ongoing. A snappy remark catches you off guard and intrigues on the ajar doors of curiosity. But you slip the moment and it goes by, unattended. The door stays closed and the voices in your head erupt into laughter of mocking your folly. I dig into the unsaid words that don’t touch your lips and stay stuck in you neurons. It’s your desperate attempt to whelve your own gut that catches me off guard and intrigues me. I try to lure my melancholous self into sweet nothings, still aching to intrude into your mind. It is somewhere between this hula hoop in my mind that I fall asleep, each night. But here is the thing. I want you to talk, every one of you. I want to enjoy the undressing of your camouf...

You, yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.  - Buddha This is, perhaps, one of the most popular quotes I've ever read..The reason why I quoted this, before starting with the blog, is the fact that I always found it kinda obvious, something that goes without saying..Every individual does love himself..Why did Buddha have to preach that after all? Mother Teresa had said, "There is more hunger for love and appreciation in this world than for bread" .. Absolutely true, but we all talk of seeking love from others, loving others, caring for others, and we often tend to forget how important loving ourselves is.. How can you expect others to love you when you don't even love yourself? How can you even think of making someone happy when you aren't happy being the person you are? How can you love others when you cannot even love yourself? How can you think of achieving something when you keep on blaming your luck? I have see...

That girl, the one without the name. The one just like us. The one whose battered body stood for all the anonymous women in this country whose rapes and deaths are a footnote in the left-hand column of the newspaper. Sometimes, when we talk about the history of women in India, we speak in shorthand. The Mathura rape case. The Vishaka guidelines. The Bhanwari Devi case, the Suryanelli affair, the Soni Sori allegations, the business at Kunan Pushpora. Each of these, the names of women and places, mapping a geography of pain; unspeakable damage inflicted on women’s bodies, on the map of India, where you can, if you want, create a constantly updating map of violence against women. For some, amnesia becomes a way of self-defense: there is only so much darkness you can swallow. They turn away from all the places that have become shorthand for violence beyond measure, preferring not to know about Kashmir or the outrages in Chattisgarh, choosing to forget the Bombay New Year assault, tr...

                                                                                                                                                                     You're not the first person she loved; the first person she looked at with a mouthful of forevers. She has lived at the edges of cliffs and in little mountain houses that tell horrific stories.                It was a tragedy that whenever she could accept herself truly, she changed.              She romanticized her lovers s...

I mean every word of this. More strongly than I feel about anything else. Don't fall in love with a girl who reads. I wouldn't. She will accentuate herself in the essence of Sylvia Plath, hiding it in the layers of her skin. Her body will have scars that Shakespearean tragedies can only rave about. Her fantasies will be grander than the life spent at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Her solace will be in the nights that she spends wrapped up in the arms of Murukami and Bukowski. She will try to search between your lips for words that only Fitzgerald would say, only to be erased later.She will secretly wish that Leo Tolstoy could write her your story, even before it ever began.. Her life will never be as vivid and compelling as a Jane Austen adaptation. She will never be enough for anyone because she failed to be a Virginia Woolf protagonist. She will be curious and fragile and scared because you won't be as honest as Pablo Neruda and maybe because you woul...

Just Breathe .... Have you ever had a feeling stuck in your gut? The kind that makes you feel all bottled up and castrated emotionally and the constipation of anger entwined by a disgusted lump of anger somewhere struggling to erode the essence of your soul away. The tears sigh heavily resting on your eye lids looking for the lightening to strike and burst down those deep dark eyes. The choked voice lies echos with the sound of your fake laughter and laments every chromosome in your body? Well.. I have. I am.. It makes me hard to look at everyone the way i used to a few days ago. In random chit chats, i visualize in my head faces of the same people pointing fingers at me and laughing - OUT LOUD! It makes my heart ache and leaves a part of me in anguish and despise and turmoil. In the little triggered corner, i feel my heartbeat shouting in a caged prison and wanting to run away and hide. But where can i go? How far will i run? They wouldn't find me, would they? They couldn't...