Running around

How do you live with your self,
After a fallen leaf touches the palm of your hand, and dies,
As the shades in the sky brings out the monsters in your soul,
And they mock you for harboring an affection so hard, a hope so strong and a dedication so profound. How do you get your self out of the universe you created and took care of and which is collapsing slowly right in front of your eyes and you can do nothing but watch the fire burn. And there is this vacuum in your heart that no bandage can fix and a void that no body can fill or maybe nobody even wants to, I do not know.
But who am I to judge. Who am I to judge the impracticalities and insanities of a world whose mere purpose is probably only to revolve. Who are we to criticise the follies of a society or to blame souls for not understanding our struggles, or for not forgetting or forgiving or whatever,
Have we attained peace with ourselves as yet?
And so coming back from the metro station when the sky is all grey and dark and city lights are all flickering and I’m looking at aeroplanes wanting them to be stars because I need to wish. To get some faith.
And I run, run as hard as my tired feet allow me. And as my breath skips and my heartbeat increases. I find myself running in circles in vain because what I’m running from is probably inside me , the monster the beast the demon. You name the synonym. I don’t know
And so I look upon books and musings and roses and chocolates and messages and I think to myself, who am I kidding right now. I do not even deserve this, this all feels too good to be true. The calm before the storm and I run faster.
And when I can run no more I stop and I cry in voiceless sobs and let my self be.
I run
Not understanding a thing
And wondering how do I preach still , how do I still fall for streetlights and leaves and sunsets and people and metro stations and all things which are scattered randomly in this not so random world, but then I wonder if there is indeed a thing as maktub and eternity and forever. And if I am a walker or a writer indeed
And I find myself choking at my own optimism. Or is it my pessimism. The boundaries between the two have blurred and I find myself growing extremely oblivious and drowning in a never ending pit of nothingness.
And my house was three streets back. But I don’t care if I’m late
I don’t care if I am early
I don’t care if I am. At all,.
But I do .
So I just force another breath.
And run.


little things

Just one of those things, Just one of those little certain things that could happen anywhere, anytime, or should I be honest and say, that happens everywhere and all the time, This is just one of those things, One of those moments, One of those phases, that ought to come and go, ought to mark their haunting, almost hurting presence because that is what the course of life is, that is what we have come to, that is what it is, that is just what it is, And as many around me, including me, are constantly implementing and sometimes even saying it to our faces, there are things we just can’t control, things beyond our mortal and moral psyche, things we learn to live with, situations in which we learn to accommodate, learn to breathe in the suffocating surroundings, to compromise, to accept the fate, accept the indifference, the apathy, the ignorance, the pain, the way it comes, whatever that way is.

You might be sitting at a corner seat of a small ice cream parlor  a few blocks away from your place, laughing at a joke one of your friends have just cracked, and you are thinking to yourself, this is the moment, a good one, and I am going to treasure it for always, there are people who are happy, and you can be happy with them, you can smile and giggle and laugh and mock and they won’t mind including you, won’t mind sharing their anecdotes with you, and they won’t mind you chattering away either, There, you are presented with an opportunity, i hope this is enough for you, And all of a sudden, your spoon hits the last of chocolate pieces of your ice-cream sundae, and it’s all back to reality, back to the red colored plastic chairs, the old banana seller outside, the three starred air conditioner, the chaotic noises around the city, the future that awaits, your house, theirs, and the illusion is over. As you get up, it too does, climbs your back as you both walk back to your place, together, in the same, constant state of mess.

It is everywhere, and you realize it all very well, and you are tired of it,  desperate to get away from it , constantly trying to find a way out, from the empty inboxes, empty cupboards, insomniac nights, midnight musings, in the red-eyed, smudged kohl face reflection of your mirror self, the blades dripping red, the pills being taken for nothing and everything, your stronger self that is always so amazing in the face of adversity, always available, always just so optimistic and perfect, but feeling hollow, completely empty inside. It now surrounds the void that fills you up, the void created by all those souls who have left you, all those who keep leaving one by one, those broken promises which as you now realize, have meant a lot, those little things, little actions, things that made you feel wanted, loved, things that don’t allow you to be abandoned, things that make you feel home, probably things that make you feel a bit better,
But you know, as you grow, and you do, You realize that nobody has really got the time to do that, Maybe that’s why they search so desperately for one special someone on whom they can direct all their affection and expectations on, because, of course, who has got the time to keep a check on everybody, it’s simply uncool, uncool, unhappy and pretty depressing, and hence, even as everyone feels the same at one point or the other in their lives, we never talk about it, we never talk about stuff that is basically killing us, reducing us to a bit of lost individuals who do not know when to stop giving, do not know how to give up, we keep going, which becomes our reason for failure, for there exists no such thing as a break or an off-time, you have to and you will, and then you do, that’s all,
And hence,
Even if you are twenty and chilling on netflix or fifteen or learning that mitochondria is the power of the cell at the age of eleven while being constantly told that there is no such thing as magic, or forty and wondering how you have wasted your entire life, or probably, just like me, eighteen and doubtful, nervous, scared and mostly upset about something being amiss as you are being scolded away for stuff like skipping meals which appears totally trivial to you for at this point, you’d rather just starve to nothingness, You know, or have known, or perhaps, one day, i pray it be to be as far as it could be, you’d know, you’d learn how it feels, for the first time in your life, wishing to leave your world of words and books to the one they all sing such great songs about, to breathe in a bit easier, and as you watch the sun sink in after a day’s job, you can proudly say that it doesn’t scare me, doesn’t make me feel sad at all, and i am happy that i have some people i could enjoy tis moment with, and i hope you are not lying as you say that,  For it is this, that might just break you, this loneliness, the silence, the what-not, all those emotions which make you wonder why you even exist, and would it even matter if you just didn’t, and it’s not that they go away, they just, stay, and as I’ve heard from one of my favorite web series, It doesn’t get better, we all have the ability to make it though, but none of us are willing to take the crucial step,
And so,  i stand here, much behind that step, and so does you, reader and so does a million others, stranded on an island of emotions with a volcano of rage ever-ready to burst, surrounded by a sea of disappointments,
And I too, choose to be shallow an d lonely, you know, we all think of creating a difference, we all hope to be a superhero to someone’s story and be the supernatural protagonist in our own fantasies, but we don’t always succeed, do we?

As Vincent van Gogh said when the world became unbearable to him, “La tristesse durera toujours”, he knew what he had gotten into, and probably that bit of cowardice is all that we need in a world where everything is basically garbage, And no matter what everyone says or preaches, he was right, after all,

The sadness will, indeed last forever.


Dear Rowling

Dear Rowling,

Around seven years ago when I began with my first book of the series, I did not know that it would completely transform my life, never anticipated that the chosen one would one day become such a huge part of me and my world. I have licked those books one by one, seen those movies over and over, through every dementor-attack, every single heartbreak, every single second of my life, it’s you, and the creations of your extraordinary intellect that has been with me, pushed me to keep going no matter what, reminded me to never let the muggles get me down, and to remember Cedric Diggory whenever I am struck with a choice between what is right and what is easy. I have found a friend, a family, an inspiration, a life, and a reason to exist in the world of Hogwarts, and even with an almost uncontrollable craving to be able to walk through those walls and with the realization of the irrationality of the same, my faith from magic has never wavered, not even once in all these years,

And of course, like many of my fellow readers and appreciators, I have got couple of complaints from you, from the tragic, heart-wrenching story of Lupin to the unexpected death of Hedwig. I shall never forgive you to let one of the twins die, Or the fact that Dennis Creevy never saw his brother live, the fact that Harry and Sirius’ story was so short-lived, And the fact that a person could be incapable to love and miss out on the best feeling of the world, Or the fate of the Longbottom’s, or how the James and Lily never lived to see harry sassing Snape through his ‘There’s no need to call me Sir, Professor.’

But you know the thing that stings me the most Rowling?

It’s how much you have influenced our lives just through the power of a pen and a paper. And, of course, I do not have any surprises there, being an amateur and almost writer myself, but I would still like to know Rowling, How have you done this? And how can we undo this?
You have converted us into a bunch of optimists who live and follow a pessimist’s approach, who refuses to give in, refuses to let anything break our spirits, and it doesn’t always do good my dear,
You have given us the power to be strong for always and beyond that, and you have taught us that it is okay to have problems. Okay to seek out others for help and it’s more than okay to keep fighting the war,

But don’t you think that in the real world where there is no Dumbledore or his army, no Voldemort, no Bellatrix or the Carrows, No real or absolute evilness transferred to a couple of people, for of course  the world is not split in death eaters and good people, and we all are, even as none of us would acknowledge it are a couple of random kids who might one day even find their long-lost Hogwarts letter in the mail, but might never find our part of the golden trios,

A strange darkness intensifies over the world, Rowling, and it feels as if someone has reached down your throat and taken away everything worth living from your heart, it feels as if we will never be happy again, it is not Diggory’s death’s trauma that surrounds us Rowling, But Dumbledore’s. Who do we look up to now Rowling? Who will give us all those lessons, since I for one am certainly not ready to be one for somebody just yet,

We all are broken souls refusing to let the light in anymore, and we have forgotten Rowling, I have forgotten, forgotten what it felt like to run just blindly towards the wall at platform nine and a three quarters, the euphoria and the excitement at trying Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans for the first time, my first night at the  Dormitory, The first time I tried Butterbear, The time we somehow managed to win against a troll, the annoyance at Professor Lockhart, Or the sleepy lectures of History of Magic with professor Binns, I have forgotten how it felt like, to be there, feel the magic for the first time again, the first time I rode a broomstick, the horror that Azkaban offers, the taste of Hagrid’s cooking, riding on a thestral, the pressure of getting a perfect date and outfit for the  yule ball, the triwizard tournament, meeting Luna and being just as sane as her, revolting against Umbridge, Dumbledore leaving us to deal with stuff, losing our godfather, falling in love, losing Dumbledore forever, the hunt for the horcruxes, the final wizarding war, and an enough trouble for a lifetime.

So, I want to ask you this Rowling,

Don’t I deserve to know too? When will Hagrid come knocking my door Rowling? And why, just why don’t these dementors leave Little Whinging already?  I have been chasing cats and owls all my life now, but none seems to be an animagus, none seems to carry the key to my escape from the Dursleys that surround my life,
And you should know this  Rowling, I blame you for whosoever I have turned to today, And I am partially thankful to you for the same too, You should know you have helped me grow as this strong persistent individual Rowling, But there are times when you can live even as they have completely drained life out of you,

Probably I will be a good Inferi someday,
but I know,

I won’t dwell too much on this, I would not forget to live, for I remember Rowling, Help will always be given to those who deserve it, I remember, And I will not forget, I will, never,
Probably I will not be a member of the Marauders or the golden trio, Probably I will not end up with the one I love the most, but I will never stop fighting, for I am not a coward, and  I am not afraid to love, I will not be the one to be pitied upon,

And I will wait, even after all this time, for always and always, and I will be let down over which will break me for I do not have the emotional range of a teaspoon, But I remember our deals Rowling,

I’ll stand up for myself like Neville, And be the best like Hermione, Eat and be contended like Ron, do stuff others can’t even dream like Gred and Forge, dare to be different like luna, not be ashamed of who I am like Lupin, Be the light like Dumbledore, have the nerve like Ginny, And I will not ever give up like Harry.
And like Snape, I will always love you,

I am

hoping to create a better world,

and I will forever be, your grateful,






To the past lovers and the past lovers in making, I think it’s time we talk

I get down at random metro stations on my way back from work, I sit down and stare at the city-dwellers go on at their usual pace with their everyday works, I look at the clouds and wonder if you are watching them too, I wait for the sunset to come, for the darkness to dawn over this city which reeks of hooman-ness. And while we are at it, I think you should know that I decided a while ago to not think of you, to not get in the same cycle once more, to get over myself, over my silly, stupid expectations, and both our complete disregard to each other’s feelings, the way we have grown apart, the way it does not make sense anymore, the way we don’t make sense, the way the world does not make sense anymore, the way words seem worthless, the way world seems worthless, and so do I, and everything else that exists right now, and how my continuous attempts have just failed completely over and over, and i do not know where I went wrong, and honestly speaking, I had, yes, i had indeed persuaded myself to not care at all, but i just do not realize, do not know why you can not understand it, Why must you keep hurting me this way? Why must you keep breaking my heart into a million pieces, are you waiting for it to shatter completely? Are you waiting for me to annihilate? What is it, love, what is it?

I am tired of making excuses for you, tired of forcing this lie on me that i matter to you, in your life, as much as you do in mine, I am tired of being there only when you need me to be, it was alright before, It really was, it started like that, of course, it did, But, then, i do not know, why would you promise me a forever if you never meant it? What, I wonder, do you get on hurting me over and over,this bad?  As I sit there and listen to another one of yous chatter away incessantly about how i have changed and how i used to be nicer back then, I wonder, why it does not hurt me that bad, why those words as hard as stones not scar my soul? The reason is clear, isn’t it?
You have succeeded.
You have broken it completely, haven’t you? I cannot feel now, cannot see things the way i used to, cannot revel over metaphors and mountains the way i used to, you have broken my soul you see, I do not remember when was the last time i felt happiness, or sadness or anything really, You have changed me into a possessive, arrogant individual who hates herself as much as she hates others,
there, are you happy now?

I (we) had prepared a surprise party for you at my place when you decided not to show up at all (again) and to ditch me and a couple more for god-knows-what reasons (again).

I would have talked to you but you decided to rather give up on me and leave.

I would have replied to your calls, your messages, your mails, but why would I? I never realized and shall never why you thought it would be okay with me for you to leave one day without any reason and then come back a year and a half later pretending nothing ever happened, and now you do nothing but blame me for having changed to a rude, insensitive person, well, excuse me for having some pride?

I would have respected you, you know? But for the past eighteen years you felt it was right for you to ignore me and treat me like a piece of shit who you can bully into doing anything for she doesn’t say anything, How could you blame me now, you turned me into who i am today, i would not apologize for that, And yes, my dear, I would fight you if you ever make fun of me, words cut deep, do you know that? and so does those silences, But why would you know that? you think it’s okay for you to turn the whole fucking place into an unwelcoming environment and still ask me to be happy and help you maintain it, what do you even think I am? But you would never understand that now, would you? You would never even consent to listen, a waste of time, isn’t it? Well, don’t get pissed off if the same happens to you,

I don’t know if i look at you out of fear or out of love, you have never really been there for me, right? You just have always wanted a perfect individual for you, and I am pretty sure it disappoints you to know that i would never be one of them, I do not even have anything to say to you, you know, you stopped mattering a long time ago, and just so you know, those decisions you made for me, I accepted them silently, not out of respect but fear, and probably because I had already given up on the concept of euphoria a long, long while ago, Don’t expect me to talk to you now, my dear, when you haven’t bothered for the past seven years, don’t you expect me to stay with you for ever when you have treated me that way, Don’t even, ever,

You think it would be cool to bully someone and all your other yous would join you and it’d be totally fun and completely harmless to snap out of a person’s self-confidence, you were wrong you know, you were wrong in ways i cannot even express, And i hate myself for forgiving you too easily, But hey, that’s what i do right?

You do know you are almost costing a girl her life because you are afraid to love her, I do not know why you don’t understand that i do not care about the fact that anyone can easily fall for me, it’s you i want and you i have always wanted, and i know, you cannot force someone to love you, but for just this while, i wish i could, I wish i could show you just once the horror inside of me, and you, like those cliche happy-endings would love me in-spite of that, in-spite of everything, and you’d be there, just like many promise to, just like many have promised to, and sometimes I wish, I wonder, I hope, that if that ever happens, you’ll never ever leave me, but would you? the question is out of scope, of course, And you know, you don’t even deserve to be here, for you haven’t been one of them, you are innocent, just like Clay, but, I guess it’s my fault, i cannot stop wondering what it might have been,  but you are no Chandler, you are no Rudy who loves his girl despite everything, you are no Augustus who’d consider it a privilege to have his heart broken by me, Do you, It’s not your fault, i know, it’s mine, and yet,  I’ll try to get over myself, I promise

I never knew you mattered that much, really, but you do, and it sucks now you are not here, it wasn’t your decision to make or was it? But the truth remains, you are not here, and you won’t be, i do not know why i used to think otherwise, but over the past few months, i have learned to become okay with it, now you are just some faces from the picture, we are not close and that’s okay for we never really were, things will be different when you get back, things are different right now too, but you won’t know it now, would you? I can just hope you’ll get accustomed to them all easily,

You say that I am the one who made you believe in forever(s), and yet you break me up, and probably you don’t even know it, you are a bit like me, probably my dear, maybe that’s the fault, or probably you are not, and that’s a bit fallacious too, and probably one day you’ll look at this post and realize that i was talking about you all this time but you’d shrug it all away, won’t you? We both claim to be so close, and we both know the reality too, that’s a bit funny and kinda ironic, don’t you think?

You do realize that you happen to be my most favorite person in the entire world, right? You are the reason i know how heart-breaks can kill you, of the void that fills my heart all this time, And it doesn’t make sense to me that we are not working out, And probably i’d have the most to say to you than them all, for you have always mattered the most, and i guess if i loved you less, i’d be able to write about it more and hence i stop yours over here only, I would just say i am lost, probably a bit lonely too, but mostly lost, and i used to expect you to understand it all, But i don’t, not anymore,

So, here’s to you all, not all of you made this list, or probably i was just generous enough,  or probably you did not matter at all, You have pushed me into this vacuumed realm of nothingness and nihilism, It would be highly appreciated if you could perhaps message me a way out, take responsibility for a change, would you?

PS: For all those wondering if i am writing about them,  I am.


Still remembering you all,


a broken soul.







To thee, my owner

Dear owner,

I’m grey and black and tragedy all inside. I have around 300 pages in all, which includes the introduction, the text, the references, the acknowledgements, the preface and all those titles you humans like to add on to the original write-up in order to understand it better. I’ve been with you for a good time, seen you laugh till you cry, seen you cry till you laugh, seen you cut your hair, seen you rub your eyes too much to do the redness away, seen you sneak in ice creams and friends, seen you read, and write, and open that laptop and stare at the screen for hours, thinking who-knows-what, I’ve seen you dancing to the beats of artists you pretend to dislike, read articles of those you constantly curse and frowning slightly of their indifferent and unjust attitude, I find you proud, excessively proud of what you are, who you are, what you do and the way you do it, I find you ambitious with a pinch of love, I see a sense of anticipation mixed with amusement in your eyes, and i sense regret and fears, And all these times while i sit in the cupboard in the farthest of the corners with a couple more of those who haven’t as yet tasted the joys of your affection. I see Hamlet looking anxiously every time you open the cupboard, hoping, waiting. I, myself stare enviously at those books whose texture itself you devour so longingly, pieces of fiction, voicing of facades and deceptions, unreal, Oh, the shame, losing to such pieces. I do not really realize what makes you go to them, they are just books too, like me, and i do not see them coming to your rescue while your mother is mocking you to tears.
Well, of course, i did not come either, but, why should I alone suffer the loneliness.

I know you have a certain sense of respect for me. But how come that’s all you have to offer, You read me first since i am a part of your curriculum, and once again since you wished to pay respect to the greatest bard of all times, But what about me, you owner?
I’ve seen you crying your eyes out over the incessant anticipations people have from you, and about the thousand ones you have yourself, But i cannot stop myself you owner, After all, i too am the embodiment of an almost broken soul, with words made eternal, versatile verses all filled with human intentions, emotions, characters, how can you expect  me to not complain when i am having my heart broken to a soul like you.  But you do not care now, do you?  You are tired, aren’t you owner? Tired of everything? Tired of being told off, tired of being told that you have changed even as you have not, tired of being told off for growing up even as it is not your fault, it is time that is triumphant always, and if fellas like Ozymandias could not win over it, how do you expect an eighteen year old to do that?, tired of them all bickering, I know owner, I know, And yet, I see you, See you breaking down every night, see you waking up a mess, yet you try and stay kind.I see you being misunderstood, stranded at a sea of silence,waiting, but, they do not ever give in,of course, they see what pleases them, even as it is miles away from reality, and you do not try to make them think otherwise cause quoting from your favorite books: ” i don’t want to play more. It only makes you care more, and the more you care, the more you have to lose,” I see you skip meals, I see you defend yourself, I see you hide what you feel, I see how hard you try to push aside the pangs of despondence, I see what a big deal you make out of happiness, see that big grin spreading over your face over an unexpected message or a mail( of course, there aren’t many these days), and as people compliment over your looks, you do not know what to do, you nod politely, upset over being judged on the basis of looks, I see you jump around everywhere when genuine words are offered to you, i see you repeating them to yourself all the time, and then, there comes a time, when i observe that spark leaving your eyes, when you begin thinking about the person, realizing how long it has been since you have embraced them, how long since you listened to the voice of their laugh, their words, the way they talk, everything, and i see you drowning, yet again.
Those fictitious monsters somehow do cheer you up. You have stacked them on my right hand side, (and yet you never seem to notice me), and you just pick up a random book and start reading at a random page, and somehow, you always know where exactly is the monster taking you for i see in your eyes form the image and you getting lost in it. I have sometimes scanned through your diaries and might i add you really do write well.
Pity, Pity.
I will never get to be your muse, now shall I ? You write about those you care about (obviously me not being one of them), you write about love, and people, sometimes.

You might be a little flustered and a bit curious as of why i do not talk in the language of my glorious times, But i know, thou shals’t ne ‘nderstand it. And i have evolved over time, Maybe one day you will too.

I know i do not prove to be an ideal hero, i killed the king for starting, But you always do find an essential goodness in us all, don’t you?
Maybe one day you’ll give me that chance as well?
Read me with the same affections you give to that book thief and that madman named harry potter someday, perhaps?

Till then,

I wait.


(Bottom corner, left side, the second row)

; aazadi (freedom)

What does the concept of freedom mean to you?

If you would have asked me this question around a year back, my answer would have been a much deserved escape from reality: a reality filled with chemical explosions and numberless expectations and infinite hopes and physical comparisons – an escape which could perhaps take me away from this seemingly never-ending phase of not being able to understand what the teacher wrote on the blackboard or perhaps what I wrote in the answer sheets. An escape which would do away all that bothered me in some way or the other, unanswered questions, happy facades, hungry beggars, wars with no survivors, unknown stories, oblivious people;something away from everything the real world had to offer, be it the temptations or its delusions;

I remember how I would just look out of the school bus’ window on my way back and observe people busy in their own monotonous works: I remember how I would tell myself how dissatisfying the lifestyle seems to me, I remember how I would promise myself that once I get out of this mess, I would do something new and exciting every single day, it could range from learning a new word to leaning a new language , or probably hop on a swing in the playground nearby or maybe even ride a roller coaster. My thoughts ranged to the two extreme points in the pendulum of life. I remember how in that institution, it didn’t matter what you did, how the simplest of problems took most of spaces in the pie chart of our priorities, how endless and cruel and wondrous and inviting the ‘outer’ world seemed, how dreams seemed amazing themself, how I would sometimes just look into people’s eyes and  stare as the fire inside their souls flickered in them, how spirits mattered, how everything seemed to be of an utmost importance , how life seemed like a game of chances and randomness.

As my legs pain and an ample amount of thoughts race to and fro my mind on the ride back home, I find myself being increasingly concerned on what freedom means to me, and what it should ideally mean, to an individual , and to a society as a whole too. My present self does not think of freedom beyond having the capability to think of unchained expressions, and whether one is allowed to vent them all out freely or not, without bring labelled into a sexist or racist or feminist( even as I consider myself to be one) or into any other of the infinite categories we humans have invented in the past few decades. And more than anything I consider it a pity how often we judge people without even listening to their stances completely , most are not even given the platform to sing of their sorrows itself, what could possibly being more shame to the concept of freedom than this, I wonder.

I look outside the window of the over-crowded metro, my city reeks of an inexplicable sense of darkness, both literally and figuratively, and I just watch as the train passes countless buildings and apartments. And even as I struggle with a strong sense of suffocation, my breathlessness does not wager me even in the smallest of ways, and some might find it crazy how a strong feeling of euphoria and freedom awakens in my soul just by watching hundreds of vehicles passing by the roads below, my mind is buzzing with thoughts, and ears with coldplay, the sim card doesn’t work in this area, nobody can explain anything to me, and nor do I have to, I can just walk out on the station and look at the lamp-posts and cars and what’s left of stars in the sky for as long as I want, I can think of anything I want to, and nobody can get offended, and as my face reflects in the window for a second, I realise that freedom is nothing but just a perspective. 

I remember reading a short story in eighth standard. It went something like- doing what you like is freedom. Now as I think about it, I realise liking what you do is a sense of freedom too,

Freedom is perhaps the reason for that longing to run whenever I see an empty path, that ignorance with which I choose which street to take to go places, what allows one to love unconditionally. And if one has a sense to do stuff as such, he is a lot ‘aazaad’ than he thinks he is,

What does freedom to me?

Unchained expressions.

Unplanned decisions.

What allows me to expect the unexpected, what makes my fire dance, what I feel everytime I see a sky full of stars, the sense with which I forgive souls, the sense with which I read and write and talk, 

What makes my heart wants what it wants.

I free my soul to go places, free my heart to get hurt and loved, free my words to go travel the world,

Free myself from all the regrets from the past and all the guilt from the future, for my present self to live a little easier, to feel a little more, to be limitless.

;khizaan (autumn)

Learning how to ride a two-wheeler is not exactly the kind of thing one likes to do in the month of January in the damp, chilly city of Delhi. Living in a strict household that doesn’t really get on with one delaying matters over and over and having a strong urge to go to exotic places far far away from reality are the only two reasons which persuade me to tie my shoelaces, cover myself from head to toe and hop on the scooter as my father drives to the nearest “acceptable”place so I can learn and fall down and learn to not fall down and learn some more.


This has always been my favorite part of the city. One would understand my love for the empty, levelled roads of Dwarka if they live in pseudo-industrial areas as I do. I do not find small scale shops at every nook and corner around here, nor is there any ‘all-time building’ construction site with all its equipments and dozens of people working at unhygienic conditions with a handful amount of those who have no better jobs but to stare at you all day long or that dust which fills up the entire atmosphere along with bricks and raw materials filling up the entire street. There are small apartments down here, you know the ones this generation claims to like, you could invest in these properties and it’s proven they always give you a great interest, you can turn these petty little studio apartments into houses and live the whole of your monotonous lives in these *homes* , away from those big bungalows and fields that were ‘ a thing of the past’, but it doesn’t matter really, not that much at least, there are absolutely no comparisons between the two different set of lifestyles, but I think I could safely say that these service lanes on the side of these apartments sometimes do provide you with the same freedom, and help you breathe the same air of independence and importance and a little bit of pride that you feel in the lush green and yellow fields, with the same sweet mist you feel on your cheeks while you are savouring the taste of a sugarcane on the side of a road from some unknown field at some unknown place for some unknown sense of trivial happiness.

My mind is filled with tons of random thoughts and I am trying hard to concentrate as the ice cold air strikes my face and it feels as if my hands are freezing, I am shaking, but I have to balance. This is the third time I am driving and I am determined not to fall down today.

Ed sheeran’s thinking about loud is playing in my head and I am thinking about some sweet and sour moments that have happened in me within the past few years. 

It’s an easy drive, not that I am a pro or anything but the road is levelled, and at most places, empty, there’s bits of obstacles in the form of moving cars and motorcycles coming my way one time or the other, but what’s a ride without that even worth? The road becomes abruptly sharp at the cut a few metres away from where I usually turn, I do not recognize this area for some reasons, and feel more than excited to know what lies in store ahead of the turn,

I am thinking about going further the turn, and I am driving fine, looking up at times, just noticing the autumn leaves falling and the trees being all prepared for a new life, the sun is going down slowly, and the city lights are slowly increasing, isn’t the view splendid?

I turn again and somehow manage to fall down, I think to myself when I am done cursing if I should go beyond the turn, for what’s it worth , there might even be a huge tractor coming this way ending my journey with the scooter once and for all, 

But as I said before, I am determined not to fall down, well I wouldn’t like it literally either, but there’s nothing a bottle of alcohol and a couple of bandages can not heal, and I cannot let the fear of the unknown define me anyway,

I decide to do it. I put my hand on the accelerator and ride on to my highest of pace, the dusty road here is filled with little pebbles and loads of leaves with colors of sunsets shining even more at dusk,

Of course, one cannot expect something magical to happen just by taking a simple turn, but trust me reader, I am not entirely disappointed. There’s a whole flock of pigeons flying just above my head and I just park the scooter aside, this is all so crazy and beautiful, I watch as a train passes by, and the onlookers at the pathway look at me and the other vehicles passing nearby curiously, but for just this while I do not care.All these people stuck in those cubicles they call their offices and all these driving back or to are not and might never realize just what they are missing. I sense my cellphone vibrating, it must be a call to get back, I sigh deeply and just embrace myself in the sight for a few other moments,

As I sit back on the ride back home, I feel the lights shining a little brighter , I might have not let myself down after all, I breathe a little easier, I sleep undisturbed that night for a change.