Shooting Stars.

​When I was little, I used to wish on stars that I wanted to become like one of those humans discovering they are bestowed with magical powers and they could change the map if they wanted, like they showed on TV. Or, meet a guardian angel (literally) who’d help me win a competition and write an exam. Wishes then were simple, you see. I spent my whole childhood wishing this. But, time passed, grades declined, talent faded but nothing really happened. It was all a facade of lies and make-belief stories. It was life-shattering to me. And, then, life happened. How sad! 

Break-ups, family problems, career indecisions and whatnot. There was no angel to help me live through each day. I struggled to get up on my feet and hold my tears back. Why? Because, you don’t want anyone to know how excruciatingly it is hurting. You know they’ll strike more on it. In it. Become the pain, who knows! 

How often have you clutched your bedsheet and put your hands on the mouth for silencing your noise of misery? How often have you sat dumb-founded on your bed and thought of nothing but that one thing someone said? How often has the rain spoken to you more profoundly than any other verbose human being? 

But, you know what keeps us going? The fact that we had survived yesterday without fail. We are past the time when eating the pill seemed easier than carrying the burden throughout the night. We have overcome what should have been and accepted what is. We are what we are today and what we were yesterday was just another person trying to hold us down. We demanded a trial by combat with it and after all, won!


Of Nightmares

​And where was all the love when you turned your back on me and silently walked through the door I opened just for you? Did you realise that had you turned your head for once, the one thing that was about to get shattered in me would have found its way back? No, you didn’t. I clearly got my answer when my knees hit the floor, just like yours did, when you had proposed to me. But, this time around it was different. When mine touched the mosaic floor, the bits and pieces broke down so well inside me that I can hardly recollect whether it was my heart breaking or my knees making the sound. 

Did your tongue not burn a little when you said I was being too much? When I lay there, you on top of me, letting you feed on my body, bit by bit, dodging away the uncanny feeling trading inside me from you, that wasn’t too much for you though. 

Did your eyes not hurt a little when you watched me shed tears from pleading eyes that were too gentle to look into the steamy glance that your face threw? When I dressed up the way you liked, all covered up, my skin caged like a prisoner, that was a treat to your eyes though. 
And just like that, you had emptied me. From the faith that drove my instincts and hope. From the love that enclosed my heart to keep it safe. From the fear to let go of something that I loved so dearly. From the stars I had treasured from the night sky. From the sun that saved me from the nightmares. And, just like that, the person I used to call after a nightmare had turned into one. Just like that.

Of A Painting

Ah, I haven’t been around here since what feels like an eternity. With exams catching up and newer avenues at college, I had little time to spare for the blog. But here, I’m back again! And this is a little poem that I wrote during the so-called break that I took. It’s an attempt at poetry after a long time. I’m looking forward to some feedback.

“an artist,
he couldn’t speak,
instead he could paint galaxies
on her sallow skin,
hurdled by a tone or two of olive,
caressing a silent picture of radiant starbeams
pressed against the little window.

an artist,
he couldn’t speak,
as her eyelids fluttered open to reveal harlot eyes,
soaking in his reflection in its translucence,
no dreams for the day,
only snapshots of wrinkled eyes and
a masterpiece underneath.

an artist,
he couldn’t speak,
so he rolled over to a corner which was darker;
quivering fingers pulled out a canvas,
and in a hurried stance,
overthrew the paint cans and brushes;
azure spread across the starbeams
gazing down on the floor.

an artist,
he couldn’t speak,
he gulped,
as he picked up a brush,
and stretched a stroke,
like Hunter’s belt across the eclipsed sky,
and watched her watch him with awe,
and his fingers ran over the board,

an artist,
he couldn’t speak,
drawing stars and skin,
against hushed moans,
as her body arched
under his fingertips,
revealing a hint of crimson string
from under white, warped sheets,
and he pulled away for a second,
to capture her lips,
drifting closer to the shivering skin down her throat,
needing, wanting;

an artist,
he couldn’t speak,
he saw the orange spreading across the purple sky,
and he heard her scintillating cries,
as her nails scraped against his hot skin,
breaths hitching, mingling, floating away,
and his hands found their way back to the masterpiece.

an artist,
he couldn’t speak,
yet he captured every word un-uttered, unsaid,
in the medley of iridescent colours
trickling down his brushes, slow and hesitant;
and beside him,
she gasped,
glimmering eyes staring into a rather colourful reflection,
and sighed.

an artist,
he couldn’t speak,
he knew she’d be gone by the dawn;
wrapped in white,
she dragged herself across the room,
and stood next to the window;
a silhouette of voluptuous curves and beauty,
with tangled locks of hair shining grey,
and lips parting,
to say goodbye.

an artist,
he couldn’t speak,
only nodded,
pushing the canvas further into the darkness,
beads of sweat clinging to the ends of his hair,
hesitance painted across his face;
and she walked to him,
and knelt down,
nails clawing across his bare thighs,
and stole a lingering, last kiss.

an artist,
he couldn’t speak,
he’d saved a shade a disastrous black;
when morning knocked and she was gone,
he pulled out the painting from mangled shadows,
and overturned the can of black paint
over the painting, once colourful and blue and grey,
and smiled.”

Image Credits- Internet

Of Inked Memories.

He took the blue fountain in his hand scrounging for words to pen down. He had little details of her in his mind and no idea how to piece them all together; where to begin. He saw her everyday in pieces. They shared their little moments together and he wanted to note them all down forever. It seemed as if he wanted to freeze those moments and lock it in a safe, aloof from the world; so that one day, when they would be together, or so it seemed, he could turn the pages and remind her of how beautiful she looked in his eyes. Only if words could suffice!

He recalled of how cheerfully she looked at him and said “Hi!” while they crossed paths, the way she murmured a song and smiled to herself, how she smiled at other people she talked to like she genuinely cared. He knew these little details would slowly fade and new memories would stay vivid. But. He was too greedy as a matter of fact. This meant a lot to him and he couldn’t afford losing them.

Not being a fan of writing since his boyhood, he procrastinated and made faces when it comes to writing down anything that is supposed to be legible. He had a terrible handwriting.
But one day he finaly mustered all his might and sat down with a pen and a dairy and embarked on a journey to fill the blank pages with memories manifested to ink.

Of Unexpected Tales

A friend request seemed fascinating that day. She couldn’t recognise the person in the display picture but her pupils dilated at the very sight of the cover photo. She kept staring at it, trying to unriddle what it meant. She couldn’t. She couldn’t also resist the urge to accept the request. May be only he knows the answer to it! So, there it was. Another person added to that long list of other people. Who knew he was not just someone. Something magical was about to happen in a very short span of time.

Their conversation wasn’t just like any other. It began with solving the cover photo and slowly proceeded to likes and dislikes then it unravelled the secrets of the winter mornings and how they loved watching the sun turning crimson red. They weren’t all the same, true. She liked sunrises and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of those beautiful sunsets. She liked those chips packets full of calories and he didn’t. He was a foodie and she was just a human being living on food. He was a patient listener and she could go chatty for the whole day (just infront of him). There were differences, for sure. But what made them get along so well was, their thoughts were parallel, not intersecting or colliding with each other but just going their own ways in the same direction.

Weeks passed, and she knew if she continued talking, she would never be able to return. This was scary for her. She had never felt this way for anyone.
What mattered was she was happy and she wouldn’t mind risking it. Her guts were positive. He had his share of past, though. But, with this girl, he particularly had something. Something that no words could fathom. He made her feel so comfortable around him, like the beach wouldn’t mind the breeze, the sun wouldn’t mind the rain, the flowers wouldn’t mind the bee. She knew this was something. That, she wasn’t supposed to be afraid anymore because that someone she spent the twenty years of her life waiting for to come around, was right infront of her.

She liked impromptu. She plans, she visualises but she knew deep in her heart that the best thing that could happen to anybody was when you do something out of sudden urges. She texted him, “I love you” one day. Then and there, both of them closed their eyes and blushed. He knew he had to hold on to her and she knew she couldn’t let go of him. Her first confession it was, after all! He couldn’t wait but get her a rose. “Those little things he does!”, she thought. Well, the little things weren’t little anymore. Destiny sure had some plans. He had had two relationships before but it was his first rose that he gave a girl. That cannot be just some coincidence, right?

Both of them were falling. The gravity was slowly pulling the two of them closer, not towards itself but towards each other. The sunrises and the sunsets were meant to meet each other, as if. The breeze and the sand were meant to form small droplets of water, as if. After all, the most beautiful stories are created when you least expect them to.

Of Never.

She switched on the coffee maker and fancied how many of those people out there would have a gas stove, let alone a coffee maker. She made the coffee and poured it in a big mug and sat in her plushy couch. She was a well-educated woman with an identity of her own. She was strong, decisive and resolved. But, somewhere she lacked. What was it?

She gazed at the watch and calculated the time left for her husband to return. The more she heard the clock ticking, the faster her heart beat. She was scared to go to those rooms with white walls and white bedsheets and have the doctors decide the fate of the little one growing inside of her. And, she knew her baby was, too.

The door knocked. She could feel her heart thumping. She wanted to hold those little fingers of her baby and tell her that everything is gonna be okay. She wanted to pat her baby on the head and tell that she’s gonna have to stop being afraid. And, there, inside the little one was beginning to get scared, couldn’t know where that weird sound came from. Was the mother in danger? Was my mother scared? 

The door opened and a postman paid a visit. She was relieved that it was not her husband. She kept the envelope and closed the door. It was from a company. Her appointment letter. And all of a sudden, it was time for her to let the baby feel safe. That she would do anything for her baby to keep her alive and not let some reports decide if the baby should live. She went upstairs, packed the immediate stuffs she could fetch. And spoke to her baby for the one last time before making that elope. “You don’t have to get scared. I’m your mother and never am I going to let anything happen to you. I’ll make sure you are safe with me or without me. I am not going to let a few people’s impaired judgements decide if you were to live. I’ll take care of you even though I have to do it alone. Nobody’s ever going to harm you, my little one. Never”.

Of hers.

It was raining cats and dogs that day. She had finally been able to wake up from the bed after two days of very high fever. Had it not been for her lover, she might not have been able to put feet on the ground this sooner. But, her lover couldn’t miss work either. She had to run the office all alone.

Susan put on the coffee maker and decided on what to eat. She made up her mind for eggs. Omelette was her favourite, after all. Suddenly, a thought crossed her mind. She wanted to do something sweet for Clara to surprise her. Clara loved surprises. But, Susan was just an amateur. She drank the coffee and ate the egg and kept herself engrossed in thoughts of various kinds of surprises.

It was time for Clara to return home. Susan hadn’t thought much about it. She was still processing every other way to make it a good surprise. She thought about chocolates, lunch, cakes but everything had been done more than once. She sat in their bed. And, was feeling helpless. She started feeling sick from the stomach. “Yeah, I was waiting for you Mr. Vomit”, she thought with disgust. She ran to the bathroom and returned almost exhausted. She sat for a while, drank water and ran again. This time, even more exhausted. She was looking all messed up and dirty. This was the last thing she wanted. “The egg was a bad idea”, she thought. She ran again. This time she had no energy left to even stand up. When she returned, she saw Clara sitting on the bed and waiting for her, all worried.

“I puked. Thrice. The egg was a bad idea. I am sorry I’m such a mess”.

Clara looked at her with glowing eyes. Like, she had never seen anything more beautiful than what she looked right then. Susan’s words vanished into thin air and almost instantly Clara’s lips uttered these. “Marry me, Susan”.

Of Some Days and Others

..some days, she wants to fly. higher and away. beyond the skies. she wants to stand atop a hill, surrounded by gushing waterfalls and pink and purple sunsets and take flight and fly beyond several moons and suns. to a world of radiance. to a world of bright and happy. to a world so majestic and so beautiful. on days like those, she’s happy; a smile teases her face every now and then, curling her lips only slightly and yet, inside, she’s as happy as the world. she wants to soar. beyond and far. higher and away. and discover. some days, she feels like she’s invincible. some days, she feels like doing a little twirl and laughing out loud. some days, she’s filled with hope.

and some days, she feels sick and dead. tired. almost as if the the last drop of energy has been taken away from her and she’s cold and helpless. on days like those, she doesn’t want to fly. the sunsets and mirages don’t appeal to her. nor does the mosaic sky. she wants to curl up next to her window, covered in her blanket and drown a little deeper into the darkness of the day. by the solitary candle, she cries and lets the lone tear hide her wry smile and breaking heart. she feels like a person on the road, surrounded by buzzing landscapes of cars zooming right across her, and she stops and kneels down on the gravel and screams and yet, the world just walks by. some days, she’s broken. some days, she sits next to misted windows and talks to nobody. some days, she’s a point where she doesn’t want to keep going.

only, some days.

Picture Credits – Siddharth Mohanty

Of Heavy Hearts

He was long gone before she could know. She had moved on with her life. Why wouldn’t she? Their break-up was mutual. They decided to remain in touch but even though she tried to, he couldn’t. 
The two souls, who once thought they were tied for life, were now so far apart, moving in asymptotic paths that even the tiniest possibility of them coming back together seemed impossible.

But they did. I’m sorry they didn’t get back together but they did meet. The universe probably wanted to prove someone wrong. Only to end up knowing that their asymptotes were perfectly made.

She held her new born baby in one hand and a shopping bag in another. They crossed paths. She noticed a familiar face and with a little bit of dither called out for him.


“How have you been?”, she asked.

“I’m good. Doing well. What about you? Who’s this little angel?”

“Ah, she’s Celia. My daughter. She’s just five months”

“Oh, my God. She’s so cute!”

“Yeah, she is. So, you’re staying here? Working?”

“Yes. Tour. I roam around. Nowhere in particular actually. It’s been two weeks since I’m staying here”

“Oh, I live here too. Down this street”


With a little bit of hesitation, she formed the words she wanted to ask since the very beginning of the conversation. “And your wife? I mean, you’re married right?”

“Haha. Do I look like one?”

She didn’t know what to say. It’s been a long time since they broke up. Why isn’t he still married? 
He noticed her expressions, her face fading. He wanted her to know that she wasn’t just a relationship to him that went bad. She was more than that. More than she could imagine. And that, seeing her happy made him happy. He held no grudges. He had no reason to. He couldn’t fake it though. He had to say it.

“I cannot marry”

“But why?”

“Because the girl I loved, I could love is not meant to be my wife”

“But we broke up, Adam. We discussed that we weren’t possible.

“But does that mean it’s possible with someone else? Not for me, Jen”

“But why?”, she asked hopelessly.

“Because the girl I loved? She wasn’t just a star to me. She was my whole damn sky”


“It’s okay. You take care of yourself and this little angel”, he could manage a grin and walked away.

But, she couldn’t. Maybe, she was faking it all along. Now, it seemed like the one who actually didn’t “move on” was Jennifer.

Of Conversations With A Stranger (3)

“I am in love”, she said proudly.

“What?! Seriously? Who?”, her friend was curious.

“Somebody. The perfect blende of a guy a girl would desire.”

“Well, him? I thought you guys were friends.”

“Were? We still are. That’s the most important thing, don’t you think for any relationship? Friendship comes first for us. Love. It is secondary. I’m glad he’s my friend first.”

“Anything special with him?”

“Everything, infact. He would do sweet, little things for you and you would just sit back and replay them for days. He would remember everything you ever told him about. He would know you better than you know yourself. He is someone who would do anything for you before you even ask him to, just like you would want it. Someone who just wants to see you not get hurt. Somebody, for whom your comfort comes first. Do all these things, and yet not make it seem creepy. Not words. Reality. It seems like I’m talking a novel or a movie but it’s real. Even I took half a decade to believe it was actually happening. He, was actually happening to me”, she seemed lost in her own world while talking about him where she could tableau only both of them making merry.

“Woah! That’s a lot of things. So, you have finally found him? Good.”

“Nay. We have found each other”, she spoke like a poetess.

('cause caffeine is known to solve problems of the world)