Explore the world of words



Sunny days when naked on a street,
Dancing till I swell up my feet.
Didn’t feel crazy till the world
Threw ice and a bucket at me.

Singing verses off of bushes and trees
Crying whenever I bruised my knees
Respecting life became obsolete suddenly
Poetry, warmth and imagination were slapped out of me.

Not a childhood story,
Or a fictitious allegory,
It is the honesty that was hidden
In my hollow head.

The adrenaline rush when I see a puppy,
Walked away, thinking about how dogs are lucky,
Listened to four tires screech

Looking back to see a four pawed corpse of destiny.

Vigorously wanting to win hearts,
With light humour and jokes on farts.
Burying the bitterness in my bones,
When someone else does it better.

Importance, ideals and insecurity,
The last ‘I’ getting a hold of me.
Rubbing my face with smoke,
After burning in a fire of jealousy.

Slowly ebbing away from all emotion,
Steadily drowning my hopes in an ocean
While I push the others to climb mountains
And not look back, in case I’d disappeared.

A brain with nill creativity,
Wants to labelled smart and witty.
Self confidence? Oh what a joke,
I’m too afraid to even be honest on my own.

With cold water of the ice dripping down my thigh,
Making my body forever too dry.
Sanctifying me from the fallacy,
That fills my lungs with soot every night.

Can’t wake up, don’t want to,
My soaked thighs weigh me down too
Along with this head of mine,
Tying my heart in a noose of lies.

There used to be good days and bad ones,
Collecting people that the world normally shuns.

Now it’s just bad days and good hours,
The numbered ones that don’t let me think too much.



Some fond and faint 

Dreary, but vivacious 

Abject, yet ecstatic 

Here’s to the memories adopted by my conscious and subconscious. From first birthday cake to having Dolly (my doll) as a mate, And messing all the attempts to bake! 

From burning fingers with a straightener, 

To being left in the car locked up. 

From waging cat fights, to setting tiffs right, with friends. Somewhere between struggling with a bicycle, 

To learning an activa ride 

And raising feet to unlock the door, 

And standing close to mom, an inch taller, 

I grew up. 

And some others, cold and bitter 

Of hurting the dear ones, 

With words and actions. 

And yet, memories of all kind 

Occupy a space in my mind, 

Independent of time and people. 

The acerbic ones, 

Of recent or remote past, 

Tell that the storms came and subsided, 

And that life is now up for a vivid rainbow. 

All the same, grateful to the merry memories 

For always being present, 

When everything looked abysmal. 

And to the fond memories, 

Which recite a joy that sets smile on our face, 

With a wish to relive those times, 

When it was all good and fine. 

And when it dawns upon, 

That the moment right now is a memory ahead, 

I set myself right, 

For a better tomorrow!




On the side where I know about the

consequences my actions would have.

On the side where love is in my favour

And my stars are not at fault.

On the side where i choose you yet again,

Only here, you choose me too.

On this side, there are fights and argument.

Only here there are patchups too.

On the side where I am as important as the blueberry cheesecake,

And you make a choice without options.


On this side,

I don’t have to tell the stars about you.

You’re making promises and are holding them true.

The flowers you give, don’t die this side

We talk all day, there’s nothing to hide.

I’m happy, I smile and am content with my life

Days are easy, I live without having to strive.


You came and I let you in,

My life will never be the same.

I wish I could travel to this other side,

Where I’m those flowers that you gave.

Every morning breeze freshens their smell,

They don’t die this side and me as well.

You help me through life and my days you make bright,

Take me to the side, where I don’t have to wish for another side.

Elegy Of Sufferance

A wish that follows another wish

A dream- dream that you possess rapaciously. 

A land, full of bounties so rich;

A life stuck between wants and needs 

A poetry; so delicate to hold that it finally loses its meaning 


What if the poems I write die the same death as mine?

Shall be buried in the earth, beside me

And would fail to concatenate you and me

Like the failed illusions of incongruous reality!


What is that pleasure which does not come from sufferings.

Why does that pleasure prefer to vanish expeditiously?

A music so wimpish that you start counting its beat

Failing which, you succumb to your guilt.


A life incarnated from the previous life now becomes a benison;

So this time you start counting your heart beat

With so much vigour and alacrity 

That  now you start making sautoir of each breath. 

But this time you let ‘them’ survive 

While the poet in you suffers a defeat and gets buried in the abyss of time!


Out of all the evening chores I could have done 

I abandoned all so we could spend some time alone 

Like every other evening we have spent 

Since the past three weeks. 

We move outside and end up in our spot 

Under the shed of a chestnut tree, 

We settle over the green beneath our feet. 

As I read a book to you. 

This routine of spending the dusk together lasts 

Till the lines get blurred 

Till the sky changes its colour 

Till the crowd ushers in to our spot 

Till my voice drowns amongst the unfamiliar tones. 

As I read a book to you. 

With every story witnessing the same reader, the listener, a sunset and a crowd, Only words can withstand this monotony 

To refute this set-up which looks no different than a staged premise. As I read a book to you 

I tune my baritone to sound like every other character in tale I glide through pages frantically whenever a story nears an end ‘This’ has exhausted many tales. 

In just a matter of weeks, 

‘This’ holds many promiscuous endings 

That I see the two of us living. 

So I read a new story to you. 

And if you ask me tonight, 

What kept me going on and on even after the sun dunked into the sky I would say, 

I created fables from innumerous sunsets 

From people surrounding our bubble each evening 

I weaved tales from the words left unsaid in novels 

And I present them to you tonight. 

With our book lying upside down; abandoned 

Abandoned is the sky 

With a million of stars 

Witnessing this wordplay. 

And now as our feet entangle on the dew kissed grass, 

We wake up to a sunrise together.


Holding a glass of wine in my hand, I look around the place

A huge crowd is around me, yet not a single familiar face

Some know my name some don’t,

But is this really what that matters the most

Why do I have to be here? A party of hundreds,

Where I am alone, once again, like a rower on an empty boat

All these deafening sounds hitting my ears,

Is nothing compared to the voice inside me

My mind shouts so wildly,

But all that rebounds is an echo, as if I’m in that empty room,

Devoid of happiness, and a vulnerable heart,

Directing myself to my own doom

My life seems tied around that empty room from the past

Which I could never escape from, even if I run fast

The visions of those days, are nightmares that never stop chasing

Although I’m far from the room, my soul is trapped and craving

To be free, and lose the impressions of that time

When all I had was myself and my tottering mind

It almost felt like I left my gloominess behind me but I didn’t

Would I ever be able to break free from the empty room inside me?


The sky split into bright pink, and deep purple as a meteor zoomed across the sky, diverging the two striking colors. Sounds of buildings crashing and people screaming in terror filled the air around me. Grey clouds spotted the painstakingly beautiful sky as lightning flashed around me. I stood on the roof terrace of a building, looking at the world that lay below me as it fell apart. 

It was the end.

It shouldn’t have come by surprise. We all knew the world would end someday. But being caught in it was something no one might have anticipated. I fell victim to this, and here I am, standing on what I feel is the top of the world. My heart couldn’t bear looking at the destruction and trepidation around me, and it raced to get out of my body. I would have let it go if not for my eyes that desired to grasp a glimpse of the world before it was snatched away from me.

Another building crashed ahead of me, a few miles away. The one I sought refuge would also give away at some point. The streets were empty. Everyone seemed to have died by the radiation or maybe had run away to find some refuge. Too bad that wouldn’t help now. Everyone will die today.


As I waited for death to embrace me, my life flashed before my eyes. When I was eleven, my best friend left me because I was too bossy. She cried, and all her classmates consoled her as I wandered off, not knowing what my mistake was.

I wish I could change that.

At eighteen, I put myself under much pressure to study, be the best in class, and always be on the top. I realized that I never gave myself the liberty to enjoy the best years of my life. But it was too late.

I wish I could change that.

At twenty-five, I finally shifted to New York to pursue my career and earn as much as I could so that I could drown in riches. In all of this, I ignored my relationship with the one I loved and lost him to my busy schedule and money-driven dreams.

I wish I could change that.

I wish I could change everything.

I did not realize I was crying until I tasted the salty drops that trickled down my lips. I wiped them away. I will not cry. I had trained myself to be strong, and even at this dire moment, I will not fall. But the $400 heels that I wore right now threatened to make my legs wobbly and take me down. I wrapped my arms around and hugged myself.

Because you are alone at the end.

I had done what I want with my life. I made good money. I became rich. I tried to make myself proud. But what I did not do was love. Not others, not myself. Loneliness hit me like a brick as I thought about my family and friends. The door to the roof terrace creaked open, and I looked behind my shoulder.

A man.

I did not care to ask him how he was alive or why he was here. It didn’t matter now. A massive ball of fire was tumbling towards our sanctuary from the reverential sky.

This was it.

From my peripheral vision, I could see that the man came to stand beside me. He lifted his gaze towards the pernicious object approaching us. We closed our eyes as it grew larger and raced to kill us.

The “I’m not like other girls” culture.

The “I’m not like other girls” phenomenon is sexism for women, by women. 

The whole notion of “I’m not friends with girls because girls are so dramatic and I am too special and different to put up with super Girly Drama Queens” is crap. 

The problem with “I am not like other girls” girls is that they altogether put down girls that like basic things in life. like there’s nothing wrong with liking rom-coms, mascara, and, wearing heels. There’s nothing wrong with being girly or feminine. If you are more feminine, then you are more feminine, and if you are more masculine, then, you are more masculine. you aren’t quirky if you are one over the other. It is completely normal to do things that a typical girl doesn’t like to do. Video games, books, sports, wearing no makeup, hanging out with boys, etc. The problem is when you act like it is a personality trait. You are allowed to be a multilayered person with feminine and nonfeminine traits. 


What can actually be divided by zero? Anything at all. What is the quotient? It’s infinity. When mathematicians faced the problem of defining the limit for a function such as 1/x when x goes to zero, they found it convenient and logical to include the infinities into the set of real numbers, giving birth to extended real numbers. This definition helped them understand the mathematical world more completely. However, the question of direct division by zero was something mathematics could make little sense of. It left many questions unanswered. It is, simply stated, a quite inconvenient question, something to steer clear of. This question, that wipes the cheer out of the best mathematicians’ faces, is in fact the central question to understanding life itself. Just as the extended real line helped us understands mathematics better, the answer to this question can help us understand the physical world more completely.


Primary education is the basic right of every child as it plays an imperative role. Activities and lessons should be planned in such a manner that the age-old beliefs turn into innovative ideas which can shake the primordial
conceptions about Gender and their respective roles. In cyberage, children have unconstrained access to knowledge that piques their curiosity and lack of plausibility creates prejudices at a very early age. An outdated curriculum will enfeeble the roots of young minds which will sway in elementary education. Poems, rhymes and fairy tales are the first step of learning for a child. But unfortunately, the first step on the road of learning has a destination of stereotypical beliefs.


Have you started motivating your confidence?

To heft your baggage,

Don’t let me face rejections again

I constantly echo “one day my talent will be my success”

Today it might be overshadowed by an opaque vision of experts.

But someday, this opaqueness will become transparent, I am sure

I feel poignant for patience,

Trying to pacify me throughout.

Still, this impatient talent bounces up & down to fly out.




Unwinding Kanyadaan

 Weddings have always been big event in Indian lifestyle. A lot goes down in planning a “typical” Indian wedding. From things like clothing, food and venue to even something as minimal as the flowers used in “vermalas” is based on detailed discussion. It’s a big day after all. So, while talking about Indian weddings, it is not possible to not talk about rituals that these weddings accommodate. One being ‘kanyadaan’.

Growing in Indian household and being an active witness to these rituals, kanyadaan has always piqued my senses. The reason being literal meaning of the word ‘kanyadaan’ which translates to giving away your daughter. But the nomalisation of the ritual and ignorant attitude that surrounds it (among many other things in India) had made me reluctant from questioning its authenticity. So, when my Instagram got spammed with stories of Dia Mirza (the Bollywood actress), not carrying out the ritual of kanyadaan and having a priestess to do her ceremony to promote equality and question patriarchy, my journey of decoding kanyadaan had begun.