Definitely, Maybe*

Rebel to Revel

2017-06-24T18:03:00.001+05:30

Being in love with someone who is vastly different from yourself is difficult. add to it the trouble of long distance and you have possibilities of dealing with boredom and way more distance than you can over.

So on a grand Monday ze boyfriend and me decided to start our very own Book Club to keep this flame of far away love alive. We have set a rather ambitious target to read one book every week, and like all good book clubs, discuss it on Sunday over a cup of virtual coffee. Each of us gets to pick a book alternatively and this we hope to continue ~~forever~~ for a reasonably long time. There are other rules too, like it has to be a book that is new to both us and if the length is more than 500 pages, it can be spread over 2 weeks. I have been super dedicated to this all week and have actually completed the book a day earlier than required. And to be able to kill two birds with one stone, I have decided to write about this weekly rendezvous to get back to writing. The first book (picked by him) was Rebecca by Dapne du Maurier.

To be honest I approach classics very cautiously. I do not enjoy how women behave in these books, so unreal and away from our realities, it exhausts me. But Dapne du Maurier is a cunning and rebellious writer. In a time of maidenly modesty and spotless honour, she wrote a riveting tale of Rebecca. The book has four main charectars, Mr De Winter, the rich and affluent widower left behind after the death of Rebecca, his first wife. He soon falls in love with the protagonist and narrator of the story and makes her the new Mrs De Winter, whose name we don't know throughout the whole book. Her identity is attached only to him. And Manderley the magnificent and mysterious estate where Mr and Mrs De Winter live.

I am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say. They are not brave, the days when we are twenty-one. They are full of little cowardices, little fears without foundation, and one is so easily bruised, so swiftly wounded, one falls to the first barbed word.

The narrations in this book are like poetry, beautiful in all it's glory. Dapne makes interlinked connections that are easy to miss throughout the book, like red is the colour of Rebecca and it comes out in a full circle in the climax of the book. Mr De Winter's two wives are like mirror images of each other but mirror images are the same person, and that contrast is beautifully depicted in wonderfully woven prose.

While I despised him for picking a gothic classic as the first book, the hesitance and effort of it slowly drifted away. Beginning with a slow pace the book reaches its end in a rather poetic fashion, revealing the reason behind the beginning of the book, the end of Manderley. Mr De Winter, is a hate-able character but his profession of love in the stoic fashion will soften you towards the end making it difficult to hate him, to a point where you start defending his actions just like the naivete and blind love of his young wife. Some things are hard to digest but considering the time when this book was written, Rebecca remains relevant even today.

So far so good, ze boyfriend is way behind this week and I'm waiting to know what he thought of the book tomorrow.

If you have any suggestions for books we can include in this self inflicted challenge, do let us know!

Garden of Change

2017-06-19T22:57:00.003+05:30

Hello to my non-existent reader base. No, I haven't written anything new. Pfft, you think you can break me. But here is a blast from the past, from the beloved Drafts folder.

- - -

"She's a Gujarati!!?"
The world had just come crashing down on Chellama. Ravi could feel her imagination go wild even through the phone. She was picturing 'undhiya', 'dhokla' and 'patra' being stuffed into her son and her concern was evident in her stern silence.

"Atleast meet her maa. You know she is even trying to learn malyalam?" , Ravi decided to end the silence.

"I will do nothing of that sort. You should stop seeing her. "

"But Maa.."

"Don't argue with me. Is this how we have raised you. We are not such people."

"You mean people who marry Gujaratis?"

"Stop it. We are not discussing this anymore."

"Well I've invited her home this weekend. Be nice. I've got to go Maa. See you Saturday. "

Chellama put the phone down with a dejected smile. She shouldn't have sent him away to a hostel in the first place. This is what happens when you leave children to their own doing. What if she is anything like the TV shows, the likes of Tulsi and Parvati, worse Komolika, the vamp. She shuddered at her own imagination and decided to call Ravi the very next day and tell him this could not happen and she was not going to meet that girl of his.

****

Chellama had picked her most expensive Kanjiwaram sari, she hadn't worn it since Ravi's sister's wedding. She was worried and decided to question her husband of things that he knew as little as her about.

"You think she is nice, will she eat meat with us?", she had asked this question three times already.

This time, Raghunathan chose to ignore it and continued reading his newspaper. Before she could ask a few more questions, the silence was pierced by the shrill doorbell.

"I've told Ravi so many times to fix that bell when he comes." Chellama cursed before turning her angry frown into an angelic smile and opening the door.

Shruti had touched Chellama and Raghunathan's feet even before she could respond to their Hello. Ravi had insisted she pretend to he be as close to Gopi Bahu, his mother's favourite TV soap protagonist to win her approval. And Shruti was going to play it to the smallest detail. She had even picked a salwar kameez that matched exactly with what Gopi Bahu wore on last Thursday's episode.

A few moments of awkward silence later Chellama was offering Shruti every item on Shiv Sagar's south indian menu which all she politely refused, although her stomach had grumbled a little at the mention of Masala Dosa. Ravi gave her quick glare to let her know that she should say yes to something. Shruti obediently said 'Yes' at Chellama's next item. Idli it was.

They ate in silence while Chellama was observing Shruti's dress, her long earrings and the way she ate her idli. It can tell you a lot about someone, she thought wisely to herself. Raghunathan decided to break the ice, he asked about Shruti's family and her work. About her little brother and what her father does. Ravi was glad everything was going smoothly.

Just when the shrill doorbell rang again, it was odd as they never had guests. Chellama opened the door to find Mr. Iyer, their doctor and very old family friend, smiling a toothy grin at her. Chellama felt panic in her throat. She couldn't possibly let him in. If word spread about a Gujarati girl being considered for Ravi's marriage, she would never hear the end of it. All the ladies would go on and on about the benefits of having a Mallu daughter in law.

Chellama was so lost in thought that she didn't see Mr Iyer and his wife brush past her into the house. Many greetings later, they were all seated on the red and gold dewan set that Chellama had brought with her at the time as per part of wedding gifts from her innumerable relatives.

She decided to explain the situation before any speculations could ensue.

"Mr Iyer, this is Shruti, Ravi's classmate from college. She wanted to see my garden so Ravi invited her home. She is his rakhi sister." She added to clear all doubt.

Mr Iyer and his wife nodded like it was completely normal for someone to travel 200 miles to see a kitchen garden and continued to ignore Shruti like they had been all along.

"I have a proposal for you Raghu. My brother's daughter is of marriageable age now, you know her Sreepriya kutti, she's a MA Literature would be perfect for Ravi." Mr Iyer, said with the confidence of someone who had seen engineers marrying MA literatures for generations.

This was turning out to be the most embarrassing day of Ravi's life, he thought before he remembered his first day in college and decided to take control of the situation.

"I'm not looking to get married anytime soon, I am yet to complete engineering and get a job. I'm barely ready." he said in a calm voice.

"Who is asking to get married immediately, but its better to fix and keep, no?" Mr Iyer was now grinning and nudging Ravi.

"He is too young for marriage with any girl, however nice she may be." Raghunathan said in a conclusive tone.

Chellama who had not reacted at all now was consoling Mr Iyer with Idlis and saying it was just not the right time. Sreepriya would have proved to be a lovely daughter in law she added with a sad smile.

Ravi was really angry at his mother for saying that in front of Shruti who was now feeling immensely out of place.

"Come I'll show you the garden." Ravi said to take her out of the room.

"No, I'd like aunty to show me."

Chellama was surprised but didn't show it and the Iyers took this as their cue to leave with dejected faces.

Shruti was now following Chellama through a long corridor in the backyard. "You know this not possible right? I want you to understand the kind of people we live around." Chellama said a little guiltily.

"Does it really matter what people say? You have raised Ravi and made him the man I love. All I need is your approval" Shruti said placing her hand gently on Chellama's arm. Chellama was beginning to soften but refused to show any weakness.

"All that is fine kutti, but people talk. We have worked really hard to build this reputation."

"Well I just came to see the garden anyway. These chikoos look delicious" Chellama went on to explain how she planted the first tree in her garden and how it has grown now. She took great pride in telling everyone how she grew all her fruits and vegetables in the backyard.

One hour later, Chellama and Shruti had walked back into the living room with a smile on their face. Ravi waited anxiously for someone to speak while Raghunathan, continued to read the newspaper unperturbed.

"Go kanna, drop Shruti home, it's getting late.", she scolded Ravi.

Ravi followed the instructions silently, wondering how the two women were already keeping secrets from him.

2016 Reading Challenge

2016-01-06T21:55:00.000+05:30

After the disastrous attempt at the 2015 Reading Challenge, I am trying again this year because I am brave.

I also have an evolving Reading List of books everyone must read, do have a look. If you are joining this challenge with me, do leave a comment so that I can keep up and feel motivated along the way and also get a few recommendations!

PS: List will be updated with the name of the book, stay tuned!

A book based on a fairytale

A National Book award winner

A YA bestseller

A book you haven't read since high school

A Book set in your home state

A book translated to English

A romance set in the future

A book set in Europe

A Book that's under 150 pages

A New York Times bestseller

A book that's becoming a movie this year

A book recommended by someone you just met - Sputnik Sweetheart by Haruki Murakami

A self improvement book - Happiness Project by Grechen Rubin

A book you can finish in a day

A book written by a celebrity - Mrs Funny Bones by Twinkle Khanna

A political memoir - Train to Pakistan by Khushwant Singh

A book atleast 100 years older than you

A book that is more than 600 pages

A book from Oprah's book club

A science fiction novel

A book recommended by a friend - Sapiens by Yuval Noah Harari

A graphic novel

A book that is published in 2016

A book with a protagonist who has your occupation

A book that takes place during Summer

A book and it's prequel

A murder mystery

A book written by a comedian

A dystopian novel

A book with a blue cover

A book of poetry - Space Gulliver by Sampurna Chattarji

The first book you see in a bookstore

A classic from the 20th century

A book from the library

An autobiography - Pandeymonium by Piyush Pandey

A book about a road trip

A book about a culture you're unfamiliar with - And the Mountains Echoed by Khaled Hosseini

A satirical book

A book that takes place on an island

A book that's guaranteed to bring you joy

Date a poet.

2015-08-18T00:34:00.002+05:30

Date a poet.

Date a man who spends more time admiring the nook of your neck looking for inspiration than spending hours in front of his television set. Date him for his ruffled pages and crumpled clothes because even when you are tired and a complete mess, his words will find your beauty in spaces where you thought there was none.

Date a poet because he will quote to you the likes of Tennyson and Cummings with the poise of a golden deer. And when Keats won’t be enough he’ll write you his own love poems. For you to hold on to long after his remnants are gone.

Date a poet because he knows what vulnerable is, and will turn every moment worth remembering into couplets of memory. That you can relive when you miss him. Date him for his strong hands that have bled to bring to life, poems that he will never truly love. Date a poet because he will never let you sleep over a fight; instead he will write you a haiku and you will smile. Even when you are clenching your teeth with anger, and even in moments you despise him. You will blush like a girl kissed in the rain, by the boy her mother warned her about.

Date a poet because in coffee shops he will pass you love notes scribbled on tissue paper. And you will have to order one cup after another because he wouldn’t stop talking about his day, and you will smile because you are in deep trouble. In stupid love, with a poet. Date a poet because no one else can put in words the answer to the question, ‘Why do you love me?’ like he does.

Date a poet because he will read to you the genius of Frost. And in time you’ll know that if you had to perish twice, his words are enough and will suffice. Date a poet because his heart will flutter not when he sees a beautiful girl, but when he catches a glimpse of his favourite author in a bookstore. Date a poet because it is easy to buy him gifts, for his birthday get him a Neruda and a Virginia Woolf for the anniversary. And just as a surprise throw in a Manto for he loves a short story.

Show him your flaws and broken pieces because he understands that sometimes poems don’t rhyme but that they are no less melodious or beautiful. Tell him no lies because he doesn’t believe in black and white. That ‘b’ doesn’t always follow ‘a’ because rhyme schemes like people are imperfect. Date a poet because when you hurt and fail him, he will know better than to hurt you back. Instead he will soothe you with metaphors and in alliterations he will, profess how much he loves you. Date a poet because the year when you can’t take a holiday he will drown you in imagery, the kind that you won’t need eyes to see. Date a poet because he will make you his poetry and you will hate when he writes about you and you will hate when he stops.

He won’t propose at a candlelight dinner. You will not find a ring in the cake. He will ask you to marry him in bed, after you’ve cuddled with him all night. He will ask you to do it for the rest of your life. And you will smile. Because you are in stupid love, with a poet.

Poets may or may not always look like this. It is only representative in nature and mostly wishful thinking.

All for Good Karma

2015-07-05T14:12:00.000+05:30

I've been counting the lines on the back of my hand
Again and again and again.
They say every seven years all the cells in our body are completely replaced
It's my only solace
To know that in seven years even my body will be a stranger to you.

I've been lighting candles
That went out, perhaps as a sign of prayers that won't be answered
and apprehensions that were yet to find peace
But I light them, hoping that someday there will be someone
Who'll see my flame go out
And rush to cup their hands around me
Patiently waiting for me to be bright again.

I've been buying books
The kind you can touch and caress
In bookstores around the cities that we met in
Amidst the empty aisles I leave notes
Of hope.
Wishing, that you find them before it's shut down
Before it is completely replaced by
a version of itself it doesn't fully recognize.

I've been giving in forms I only learnt now
In between learning to breath fully
I try to find meaning
In the stories of people I'll never truly know
And I'm dying to tell you that a girl went to school today
Because I spent a night sending emails to friends and acquaintance alike
Asking for my trust in humanity to be restored
But I'll tell you, I'm done with believing

I've been wishing on shooting stars
and waiting for the clock to strike 11.11
But I've been doing that for too long now
I don't think it works.
I don't think I really know the difference
Between what is real and superficial anymore
And superstition is better than faith.

I've been building paper birds
Because a 1000 of them, are more than 2 and with each I tie a wish for you
And from afar you can't really tell if they are paper or flesh.
If they are happy or sad.
From this far you can't tell anything
And I'm letting them go for good karma
But this time I won't wait by the window.
They'll just fly in whenever they please
This time more real than before.

And the Winner is...

2015-07-01T16:49:00.000+05:30

My blog completed 4 years this June and i decided to have a giveaway this year as penance for ignoring my blog for long periods of time. A very big thank you for all those who took part, and all those who have encouraging words to say on everything I write. This blog has been my 'go-to place' for the last 4 years and I couldn't be more thankful.

I have met amazing people, read some beautiful things and learnt and grown I believe as a person first and as someone who writes later.

A very BIG THANK YOU if you are reading this. It is a lie, if someone says they write for themselves, because else it wouldn't be up on the internet. So I write for connections I make through it, for the pleasure of being able to express and share and sometimes that word of praise that can keep me glowing for days!

The winners of the giveaway are:

Congratulations Guys! Please check your email and send me your address! :D

Chance Meetings

2015-06-02T23:55:00.003+05:30

Like most of my grandeur time commitment promises my blog everyday month is already running out of creative juices. So here I am, being technically correct. You know, technically. But not absolutely. So here is a story I had written a long time ago, but it was never posted here, though it was shared on Darlings of Venus. So here it is technically for the first time! Yay? Okay I'm horrible I will try harder. But atleast it has fewer grammatical errors this time? Yay? Nay?

As penance I wish to offer some goodies at my 4 Year Blogoversary Giveaway. Heehee.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Leaving all the unhappiness behind she was going to New York, to get some perception. To fall in love the Carrie Bradshaw way, to find a way back to her happier bubbly self again. She was early for her flight like always, always so organised, always so in control. She was never late for anything
*Flight no 8547 to New York leaving at 14:00 hours has been delayed by 2 hours, the inconvenience caused is regretted*
As the announcement echoed around the airport, Sia let out a deep sigh and cursed her OCD for bringing her so early to the airport. She had 3 hours to kill now before the check-in would start. She called her mother to let her know of the delay .

"Amma the flight is going to be late"

"I don't know why Amma."

"How can I come back home, what do you mean why do I want to go anyway "

"Seri seri, Bye Amma. I'll miss you too "
Sia looked around for a book shop to engage her time, what she spotted instead was a cafe, she decided settle there and exploit the free Wi-Fi while she waited. Just as she was about to sip her coffee and open Cosmo Online on her laptop, a lady came upto her and asked if she could sit with her, as there was no place in the cafe. Sia gave her a warm smile and asked her to have a seat. Sia never let go the chance for a conversation.

"So you're going to New York too?" Sia enquired.

"No, London. My flight is in an hour, these delays." the lady said with an annoyed expression.

"Oh great! I'm Sia and you?"

"Krishna Pai." the lady replied already troubled with Sia's questions.

Sia went back to her reading and suddenly she had tears rolling down her eyes. Krishna was taken aback when she saw Sia crying."

What's wrong ? " Krishna asked more out of politeness than interest.

"Well I just read a story online and it made me miss my ex -boyfriend. We broke up last month." Sia said still sobbing.
"Oh." Krishna said with complete lack of interest now.

"How are you so insensitive, the least you can say is, it'll be okay?" Sia said a little hurt.

"No, it won't be okay because you have chosen to cry over it and not move on. You hurt yourself, no one else is or can be the reason for your pain."

"Err." Sia had now stopped crying and was amazed at how rude strangers can be.

"I'm sorry, see I have seen a lot of pain in my life so when I see teenagers crying over silly breakups and unimportant fights it angers me." Krishna said a little calmly now.

"Like what?" the ever curious Sia pestered.

"My 2 year old son has EB. It is a skin disease which occurs in 50 out of one million, even less most of the time. My child cannot go out and play like normal kids. He cannot hug or cuddle with me without feeling immense pain, he cannot enjoy a shower without crying his eyes out. But yet he smiles when I call out to him, he laughs when we fool around in front of him and he tries to accept his pain everyday. He is my hero, he smiles though all he feels is immense pain. There is no cure for this disease, but I'm hoping there will be one, pretty soon. My husband left me because he couldn't handle all my attention being devoted to our child and he couldn't afford all the hospital bills. He didn't want to be responsible for something his sperm created. So here I am, I have quit my job and now am putting all my time into getting my baby out of his misery."
"I'm so sorry." Sia said

"Why are you being sorry? Don't sympathize with me, I wouldn't want to have it any other way. I love my baby and he is the best child any mother could have asked for. No matter what and he's an angel." said Krishna with a motherly smile.

"I'm sure he is, so is he in London?" Sia asked not knowing what to say next. When in doubt, ask questions was her motto.

"No, he's here in India with my mother for some days. I'm going to meet a few doctors about his case, maybe his condition can be controlled." Krishna explained.

"Oh, I hope it works out for him. God bless him." said Sia with a wry smile.
*Passengers of Flight no 96541 leaving for London at 15:00 hours are requested to enter the boarding area. Thank you*
"Ok thats me, bye dear. Take care." Krishna said as she put on her coat and and flung her handbag on her shoulder.

"You too." is all Sia could say.

Just as Sia was pondering on everything Krishna had said she noticed something on the floor that had probably fallen from Krishna's bag. It was a visiting card:

Krishna Pai

Lawyer

B.A LLB , PHD in Human Psychology

Contact no : 32313456

Sia kept the card in her bag and for a moment smiled, maybe she would meet Krishna again someday.

Love Socially

2015-06-01T00:23:00.001+05:30

That poem you shared the other day
On your blog
Did you have me in mind when you hit *publish*?
Tell me, is it true? I’m not trying to fish.

The Tweet you RTed at 9 o’clock last night;
about your hand in mine
Entwined like two beautiful trees trying to stay apart but failing.
Should I have taken that as a sign?

On Instagram
You said, “I make you happy”
Or is just the comments that followed
Or the publicity

On Facebook you said you loved me truly.
I was feeling ‘fly’.
Until that girl from next door said,
something about my mismatched hair-tie

On Snapchat you send me selfies,
of you and everyone around.
From when you left home for work,
to until you were in your night gown

But amidst all the social networks
I really wonder why?
Love needs to find expression in words and emoticons.
When all it really takes is for you
to stand beside me and look me in the eye.

This post is a part of my attempt to blog everyday for a month on the occasion of my blog completing 4 years :D Also there is a GIVEAWAY so do participate and win awesome things!

Privilege

2015-05-31T21:45:00.000+05:30

Privilege

(noun)

;a special right, advantage, or immunity granted or available only to a particular person or group.

"education is a right, not a privilege"

synonyms: advantage, right, benefit, prerogative, entitlement, birthright, due;

I come from a humble family, of generations of service goers. My mother gave me a book each time I was good or bad, she said it helped in any case. A book for when I failed and a book for every successful milestone. A book for when I came first in class and a book for when I lied. She taught me even what she herself had never learnt. To be born not with a silver spoon in your mouth but with books in your blood and so much potential in your soul is a privilege indeed.

I went to one of the best schools in the city of Mumbai, followed by a college that exposed me to people I admired and wanted to ape at the same time. The achievers, the intellects, the poets and the occasional genius. I was a graduate in accountancy by 2013 and before you put me off as someone who would be good only with numbers, let me tell you I count on my fingers. I was privileged to have a light to read by, a book that was not snatched away from me by force or circumstance and parents that pushed me to be my best.

But there are children all around us, that are never able to see their true potential or ever hold a book. And it drives me, because I feel responsible. I feel the need to be involved and stop criticizing a system from the sidelines that I may not completely understand yet. I feel responsible as an educated adult, with so much to give back. As clique as it sounds, I wish to make a difference. I learnt at the age of 3 that a nuclear family is not one which is dis-joint but one which has learnt to love from a distance. And we've been ignoring our less privileged families for too long. The disparity in India scares me and makes me wonder how many people go to sleep hungry only because they were born into a different family than mine. Destined by birth to starve. I look at children and believe each of them is turning into a story worth telling, and if I can only be a facilitator in this journey. To change the life of someone who was never taught right from wrong is perhaps the biggest privilege.

I've just applied to mentor an underprivileged child you can too. Join the Green Batti Project.

This post is a part of my attempt to blog everyday for a month on the occasion of my blog completing 4 years :D Also there is a GIVEAWAY so do participate and win awesome things!

4 Year Anniversary Giveaway

2015-05-30T14:51:00.005+05:30

Hello! *voice echoes in empty corridors of emptiness*

If anyone is still here, listening and reading my monologues and conversations with self, you are invited to a PARTY!!! My blog completes 4 ~~glorious~~ strictly ordinary years this June, and I'm going to have a WAIT FOR IT...giveaway!

Mario Miranda cartoons are the love of my life! So the prize for the giveaway was obvious!

The Rules are simple.

- Visit the Definitely, Maybe* Facebook page

- Follow me on Twitter, Instagram and Pinterest

- Share the link to my blog for bonus points!

Each such entry earns you some points, based on which a very smart software will pick the winners at random

1st Winner gets a Mario Miranda Novelty Mug

2nd Winner gets 2 sets of Mario Miranda postcards, which are just beautiful. Let's get to letter writing again!

3rd Winner - This is really special. I am going to Bangkok next week, and the third winner will get a special gift which I will be getting from Bangkok! (So can't specify what exactly)

Tadaaaa! So take part right now. Contest closes on 30th June and winners will be announced on 3rd July.

PS: Since it's anniversary month, and my blog has been ignored for most part of last year. I am ~~going to~~ try to blog everyday, starting today till 30th June, So join me, and take up the challenge?

Mum is the word.

2015-05-11T21:38:00.004+05:30

When I was younger and someone said “You are just like your mother”, I would retaliate with a resounding “NO!”

It took me 23 years to know that my mother is the most beautiful woman I will ever know; that the first face I had recognized was of the person who would make me her world for the rest of her life. Some women are natural mothers, my mother is super-natural. No, really!

She is not the typical can-find-anything-that-is-lost (which she can), or the Bollywood inspired who knows when you are only steps away from home (which she does) but she's been unconventional in so many ways. She’s always been some kind of helicopter mother; and I had issues with that, obviously. But that is the beauty of a mother-daughter relationship; one doesn’t want to be anything like the other, while the other is always looking out to see that it never happens. “Don’t make the mistakes that I made” she says very nostalgically. But somewhere along this road, there is a chance of finding a beautiful friendship, of never ever needing a best friend again. Of never worrying about hurting someone so much that they would never speak to you again, even if they say so in the moment. The chance that you may never have to go to the movies alone. The chance that on the day you walk in with your hair dyed electric blue instead of a raging fit all you get is, "Its... different."

Just like any two people who care about each other, we fight a lot, shout and scream. But the optimism with which we share ice-cream later is a tiny miracle. My mother is the glue that holds our family together, a go-to person for almost everyone in the house. In a world where children should be tied to their beds in chains, my mother never said no for anything, all she said was “Do what’s right for you” -so if you think going for a sleepover only a day before the most crucial exam of your life is the thing to do, so be it. She is my 1st expert for everything, my first example and inspiration for carrying myself into the world and its wide possibilities. For what am I if not a summation of her qualities?

On my birthdays, she wouldn’t buy me dolls or chocolates, she would buy books. On my report day, she wouldn’t be in a hurry to leave, but she would meet ALL the teachers, which was usually followed by getting me the bribe she knew I didn’t need to score well. On my graduation day, she cried and on the first overnight trip she ever sent me for, she called to ask “Can you sleep without me?” Even though my father still thinks I am 3 years old, my mother always treated me like an adult, but there are still those“You are still too young for….” arguments.

The first time I brought a guy home, she decided to shove a family-tree-scrapbook I made in 5thGrade in his face and explained to him where exactly he would fit in. And that led to the most awkward conversation of my life where I had to explain to my naïve mother that I didn’t intend to marry every guy I brought home, which led to several puzzled looks from her end finally ending with “Alright then, I need to cook.” The first time I had my heart broken, she said "It hurts but its okay, I understand." instead of telling me, how I was too young to be in love anyway.

I wish to be half the mother she is to me. To be half the friend she is. To be half the kind of cook she is. And with all those halves my children would be full lucky.

So now so many years later when someone says that I am just like my mother, I say “Thank you!”

2015 Reading Challenge

2015-04-10T02:38:00.003+05:30

With a quarter of 2015 whoosed away, and exams on my head. I await my precious non-academic reading time.Here is a challenge I'm taking up and putting up here, so that it hurts me physically when I don't do it.

I also have an evolving Reading List of books everyone must read, do have a look. If you are joining this challenge with me, do leave a comment so that we can wallow in self pity together when we don't complete it. Much, love!

PS: List will be updated with the name of the book, so keep up!

A Book with more than 500 Pages - A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth

A Classic Romance

A Book that became a movie - The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri (re-read)

A Book Published this year

A Book with a number in the title

A graphic novel

A Book Written by someone under 30

A Book with Non-Human Characters

A Funny Book

A Book by a Female Author - Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert

A Mystery or Thriller - ABC Murders by Agatha Christie

A Book with one word story title - Gulab by Annie Zaidi

A Book set in a Different Country - Love Virtually by Daniel Glattauer

A Non-Fiction Book

A Popular author's book - The Lowland by Jhumpa Lahiri

A Book from an Author you haven't read yet

A Book a friend recommended - Eat, Pray and Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

A Pulitzer Prize winning book

A Book based on a true story

A Book at the bottom of your to-read list - My Family & Other Animals by Gerald Durrell

A Book that your mom loves

A Book that scares you

A Book more than 100 years old

A Book you were supposed to read in School but didn't

A Book you can finish in a Day - Lullabies by Lang Leav

A book based entirely on its cover

A Book with antonyms in the title

A Book set somewhere you've always wanted to visit - A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini

A book that came out the year you were born

A Book with Bad Reviews - Sita's Curse by Sreemoyee Piu Kundu

A trilogy

A Book from your childhood

A Book with a Love Triangle

A Book Set in the Future

A Book Set in High School

A Book with a Color in the Title

A Book that made you Cry

A Book with Magic

A Book you own but have never read

A Book that takes place in your hometown

A Book that was originally written in a different language

A Book set during Christmas

A Book written by an Indian Author

A Play

A Banned Book

A Collection of Poems

A Book you started but never finished

A memoir - My Brief History by Stephen Hawking

A Book of short stories - Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri

A Book that you would consider a guilty pleasure - Every Seventh Wave by Daniel Gattaeur

Nikolai Gogol

2015-03-31T02:52:00.002+05:30

- Spoilers Ahead. Stop Reading Now!

Ashok was calling Ashima, from the hospital telephone. He was experiencing some pain in his stomach. He was telling her it isn't serious and she needn't worry.

By now I had already begun crying inconsolably. I had been here several times. And I knew what happened next. I was only watching this movie for the 30th time. It was cinematic brilliance is what I would always say. The sheer simplicity with which a beautiful book was converted into a film. Never is a film better than the book but this time it was so close I could never decide.

The Namesake, tells the story of Ashima and Ashok, an Indian couple struggling to live the American Life and raising children in a country they don't feel they belong to. Ashok names his son Gogol, in memory or drawing inspiration from Nikolai Gogol, a Russian writer because Ashok feels deeply connected to him in so many ways. It was like Gogol had saved his life. A son's absolute remorse and the love only parents have the privilege to feel. A book that touches you where it hurts most. Enacted by perhaps the most talented actors in the industry, Irfan Khan and Tabu. Gogol is played by Kal Penn who needs no introduction.

Fun Fact about the movie. Kal Penn's family were Indian immigrants and he was born in New Jersey; When he read Namesake he wanted to buy the rights of the film and make it a movie. But Mira Nair beat him to it. As destiny would have it Mira Nair's son who loved Kal Penn in 'Harold and Kumar' told her to consider him as the lead. That is how he came to be cast as Gogol.

Why the mention of this film/book now so many years later? It's like a stale review. But I couldn't help myself. Some books and movies don't leave you and this is one such. I have cried and smiled on my worst and best days with this story and its hard to be selfish and not share. It references to this book "The Collected Tales of Nikolai Gogol", Ashok gifts it to Gogol on his graduation.

Now the thing is that I have been meaning to buy the book by Gogol forever. But I believe in all things magic, and delusions are a part of my personality occasionally. So I'm hoping for the book to find me. It's not easy to buy, believe me I've tried to cheat in several bookstores by asking for it straight off. I want the book to just run into me. By chance or some strange twist of fate. Like running into the love of your life. Crazy? Just buy the Goddamn book!? Perhaps. And while I know I am here waiting for an inanimate object to come looking for me. I'd want to find it, like a treasure, not purchase it like a material possession. I'd like for Gogol to find me when the time is right and I need him the most, while I keep my eyes open like searchlights, looking for the signs.

"We all came out of Gogol's overcoat" - The Namesake

Fears.

2015-03-16T21:26:00.000+05:30

I fear, a life that is just about ordinary
That when I'm old and gone
The dash between the years of my life will have no stories to tell

I fear that too much ambition will eventually drown me
Or worse, I'll fall in irrevocable love with flying like the film I can't stop talking about
And no place will feel like home again.

I fear not the darkness but the lonely nights it brings
That eventually eat you up
And slowly sleep is a secret you tell your body to keep.

I fear that I fall in love in an all consuming way
And I can't really draw the lines between what is platonic and otherwise
I love the rhythm of poetry and its concave curves
But maybe we are better off as friends.

I fear that books will one day lose their comfort
The lines I knew at the back of my hand
Will turn into patterns and all I will be able to make of them are scribbles

I fear standing at the crossroad of nowhere, terrified if there will be a happy ending
There probably will
But I will fear still.

I fear that by the time I learn what it really is to let go
I'd have too many people and things pass by
And everything I'd ever let go would have claw marks on it.

I fear a world of complete despair
I fear a life of counting the clock
Time.
The world's oldest trick
And probably the only one that is truly magic

But what if it's time that I don't have
What if there are just so many days I knew I had?
Would I be brave then?

Thinking Aloud

2015-03-05T02:08:00.000+05:30

If I have a machine in a factory and every day I decide to fight it, to question it and to ask it difficult questions every single day pushing it to its limit and thus stalling work for hours. Isn't the machine going to eventually breakdown, isn't it going to be more inefficient than ever before and not function at all.

Our legal framework is a system. I know what you'll say about justice in India, its delayed and often denied. But if we only paid close attention that its not the framework that is weak. The laws are in place and improvements happen all the time. To ensure a complete and 'ideal' solution to every problem. And anything without a system, a structure is just chaos.

I don't know where the line is really drawn and where outrage is just happening for the sake of outrage. Is beef really that important to so many people? Really? I didn't even think that many people ate it. Is a documentary so important that we must digress from the real issues, the real issue that when will we see justice served for Nirbhaya? What good does a documentary do to her and her family's loss.

Here is what I think of the documentary:

Would I want to see it? Yes.

Why? Because as an educated adult trying to figure out the world, I'm curious and perhaps so disturbed that how someone can commit something so heinous and have no remorse. To feel nothing. I blame the lack of education. The short falls in his upbringing but it still interests me to know WHY?

Do I support the Ban? No.

Although to hear him say those things, is disgusting for the people who've been through the traumatizing experience of being raped and to their families. While it exposes a not so shocking mindset, he is only saying what politicians, Ramdev Babas and several other regressive men have said in different forms. But coming from him with absolutely no remorse in his voice brings no good to Nirbhaya or to the legislation. But an impressionable uneducated young mind will watch his smug face without a single trace of remorse and think 'Sahi Hai' and not know any better. I don't want a young girl watching and fearing her life as a woman, assuming assault and rape to be her destiny if she chooses to live, work, and go out when she feels. I don't want her thinking any lesser of herself because some men were not raised right.

But what I do want is men to feel shame. And while I don't generalize. I know that even the best of men have at some point made a crude remark about a woman who doesn't know her "decency" and for that alone I would want the film to be viewed. I want everyone to see that even the most educated lawyers of our country, perpetrators of the so called 'Indian culture' echo the voice of our patriarchal society.

What the film should go to achieve is a fast track court hearing. To use his words against him in the court of law. But law wouldn't allow something like this as evidence. Because that is the beauty of a democracy and its sanctity lies in the fact that even the most heinous criminal is tried by an un-biased judge, and the taxes of the same country that is now against him will pay for his lawyer and justice will be served.

Here is my candle of hope that there will be a tomorrow, when the law of the land will not let me down. That outrage will not be the reason for action but the intent for justice.

Point A

2015-01-31T22:44:00.002+05:30

There are very few people who like poetry and are not familiar with Sarah Kay. She is a spoken word poet and her poetry is eloquent and brilliant. This is my version of her poem "Point B"

If I should have a daughter
I’ll read to her “Point B”
And tell her that’s not me

But Mama is a worrier and

Papa may not necessarily be a warrior

So she must fight her own battles
That on a long enough timeline everyone succeeds

She will learn that terrible things happen
But those terrible things, they save you
That salt water is the answer to everything
And the waves will take in anything if you let them
She will always have the key to what her life holds
Its like the clay that she will get to mould
That “Some things are just not meant to be”
Is the biggest lie ever told.

She will know that heartbreaks are painful
And losing someone can leave a hole in your heart that won’t be filed
I’ll tell her that her Mother was in love too with a man,
Who didn’t love her enough
But I got over it and she would too
But what I won’t tell her is that even now when I think of him
I feel the air knocked out of my lungs
and for moments after that they forget the taste of air
With my hand on her head
I’ll probably say it was for the best
But I’ll skip the rest

And Baby I’ll tell her never stop asking, “Why?
That she will not hear me say “Just because I said so”
She will know to be persistent
She will know to not settle for anything
lesser than what she dreamed of
Not all dreams are still breathing once you wake up
But they must not go without a fight
That life is like moonshine and her mother
Has been holding on to some of it each night
For when it gets too dark

She will know that love makes
the world go round
And the world has been going on for too long without enough of it
That the ones holding down her cape while she tries to save them
Are the ones that need her the most

And when she can't help them

When life seems at its darkest
She can cry
Sometimes tears are what you need to see clearly And life is greatest leveler
That just like books, it all ends well

Okay, not all books end well

But that is what the moonshine is for
The stars and the sky
Can make you believe in the things that are much
bigger than us
That there really are somethings she can't change
And that's okay

Cause if I should have a daughter

She will call me "Point A"

Because I'll be her constant.

You and Me.

2014-11-29T15:36:00.000+05:30

I fall a little in love with everyone I meet
I fall in love with everything that humanity is and can be
The imperfections and rounded edges draw me in
I want to know your story
Will you tell me?
Will you tell me why you hate that Beatles song
Or why peanut butter with bread is just so wrong .
Will you tell me of your biggest dreams and all that made you.

Of the books you took to bed

The days when too many thoughts filled your head

Of the time you held your brother’s finger and followed him around
The times the bully put you down

I fall a little in love with everyone I meet
Someone that hands me a piece of their soul

Trusting me to keep it

I'm mind blown

You trust me? To keep it.

So safely tucked away

All the things you say

Of the times you had a broken bone
The pages of your diary that you think are just a drone

Of the love you thought was yours

Are just a few
Of the stories I want to hear

From you

I fall in love a little with everyone I meet

When you tell me

Of the day you cried yourself to sleep

When you realized that there is only so much you can do

That the burden of privilege is not yours alone

That we are all just turning into each other's clones

When the truth was too much to take
When choices took the name of mistakes

And then when you say, but I moved passed it

I fall in love with you a little.

It overwhelms me how easy it is to love

To trust and be trusted too

That we are not alone

believe me, you

That all we are looking for is

a connection

Some common ground to anchor on

To build a bridge

To catch a train

To something, to someone
Who is never too far away

All we need is to not feel so alone

So I look,

I look for stories. I look for people with their hearts on their sleeve.
Because I fall in love a little with everyone I meet.

I want to know your story.

Will you tell me?

Cause I have them too.

Not so different me and you.

Letter to "The One"

2014-10-07T00:41:00.001+05:30

Hello You,

I've sat with a pen in my hand writing this letter to you on so many occasions that I almost don't remember what I want to say anymore. I thought I had found you on more than one instance. All the signs were there the violins, the wind in my hair and the sudden pull of it all leading me to an illusion I thought was you. We need to work on the signs this time. Let's have a code word, like when you run into me you say that magical word or perhaps break into a Yo Yo Honey Singh song so that this time, I make no mistake. I know you are somewhere making some mistakes of your own, singing songs, buying flowers, having beer with a girl I will come to hate for breaking your heart. Think you are in love, don't you? Hah, bubble. You need it perhaps, to be able to find me. Let's call her ~~Cruella~~, okay fine Cranberry? This Cranberry that you are with is going to turn pretty sour very soon. See what I did there?

You are from somewhere in the mountains aren't you? Don't get me wrong, I love the sea. But I hope to be able to share it with you without you knowing any of it. Like I could tell the story in any way I liked and it would be your truth. I would miss the feeling of standing on firm ground, solid and safe but the snow melting under your feet in an attempt to make you trip doesn't sound as scary with you around. I could learn to love it and besides how would I miss the sea, I'd always have your eyes with me. I imagine you to be everything I am not or everything I am but just so different.

I'm still figuring life out, and in all probability will still be figuring it out when I meet you. Don't be afraid, I dream new dreams everyday and I hope you can live them with me. Sometimes they end up crushed but mostly unfold into something magical like it was the final piece of the puzzle all along only till the next one came by. I hope you like music, the kind that lifts your soul - the one with words or the one which needs none at all. And I really hope that you can play some of your own for me, and if you can't I promise to show you my futile attempts at mastering the guitar. I promise to laugh at all your silly jokes and learn to smile at your mistakes. I could be impatient and impulsive and you might think Cranberry was better but I promise to love you with all I have and sometimes more. And I hope I hear you say at the end of each day that it couldn't be better.

I don't know how I'll finally meet you. Maybe at a bookstore when you bend over to pick the book I dropped. Or maybe at a coffee shop where I sat waiting for someone who never turned up. In the midst of the sea of pretentious marriage profiles - yours would say just the right things. At the beach while I made a sandcastle that you made fun off and showed me how it's done so arrogantly. At a party where you couldn't stop dancing and I could not stop looking at you. Or maybe I've walked past you so many times that destiny is tired of its own cruelty but the stars were just not aligned yet.

I think I could do without you for a while but I would like to know of your existence. It would be comforting to know my soulmate was not hit by a car or something before I could even meet him. But you are "THE ONE" so I'm sure a grand entrance is in order, it would be a story we would repeat several times to the same people at dinners and anniversary parties. No pressure, I was just sharing. I don't know what you look like and I don't know what you sound like but I know your smile reaches your eyes. That your voice is going to be the only thing that can put me to sleep on a bad day and I know that once I've known you I wouldn't need to know anyone else. I would have added a picture but I wouldn't want some creep seeing it lest it lands in the wrong place. Besides you wouldn't need it, I'm sure you'll be able to tell its me with your eyes closed.

So here it is my message in a bottle that I am going to fling into the universe and hope it hits you on the head and you can come find me. But I hope against hope more than anything that I haven't missed you already.

Love,

This Time

2014-09-11T02:06:00.000+05:30

This time I grew up.

Didn't delete a single picture or message,

Didn't burn down memories, Didn't cloud my mind.

This time I didn't cry.
But next time around, I'll be ruthless.
I'll judge you for your queer smile.
I'll mock your accent and stare at your scars
I'll stop to breathe before I let your scent into my lungs
This time I'll not make you my comfort.

I won't let you become the essence of my being

I won't let you touch my soul

No, not this time

Because this time I won't love you.

As is amply clear, I'm trying to write more and more poetry. I have been a regular at The Poetry Club, Mumbai for the past year and its unbelievable. So if you are in Mumbai and would like to read out your poems in the midst of fellow poets write to them at thepoetryclubmumbai@gmail.com

Forty Two

2014-09-08T04:54:00.001+05:30

So, what is the point of it all anyway?

Life, universe and everything?

Why do I wake up each day and go to work

Tired even before I'm started.

Fixated on goals I don't remember setting

Working for people I don't like

Why? Such an earthling question to ask.

Why?

When all I want to do is write.

I want to write about honey filled buttercups

And sun kissed peaches

Of curly hair that just won’t be tamed

About kindled spirits and broken dreams

I want to write about values and cultural extremes

I want to write about frail eyes but strong hopes

And about sunlight that creeps in from between thin leaves

About raindrops that tap on my window, hoping to be let in

About myths and prophecies

And about rivers that always meet the vast seas

But all I do is shake my pillow violently each morning.

Hoping that the dreams I lost that night would tumble out

So I read, about others that let go.

In between scandals and violence

Are dreams coming true, silently breeding hope

Like the wind knocking on your heart for a chance to blow away misery.

Like living each day with the wonderment of the child
that saw his first magic trick

And there are those many pages later

In between real estate and oddly shaped classifieds

A lost soul, a mourning, a life

With incomplete dreams? Perhaps

Or maybe a lifelong of happiness and contentment

And here I am at an age of misconstrued ideas and confused ambitions

At crossroads that lead nowhere or everywhere.

And I hear myself whisper "It's always a choice."

(For those who didn't get the reference in the title. Douglas Adams in his book the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, writes about a computer called Deep Thought that takes 7 million years to find the answer to Life, Universe and Everything and the answer is 42. So yeah, this is my Life Universe and Everything poem or something like that.)

Startling Clarity

2014-07-03T12:46:00.001+05:30

Because when you stumbled into my life

My heart sighed so deeply and said "What took you so long?"

In a moment of startling clarity I knew.

I live for these moments.

I wait for them.

Almost grabbing in the darkness of a deliciously ambiguous life.

I search for an absolute in the otherwise blurry lines.

In a time when I thought love was something I didn't want anymore.

Love I didn't deserve. Love I didn't receive. Love that didn't make it.

You gave it a new meaning.

And suddenly all those love songs,

The heart breaking movies and everything I've ever written

Were all about you.

I fell in love. Again. And again.

Everyday like it was new.

Like everyday was a fresh start.

Everyday the Sun would come back brighter and tell me that Love was on its way.

Love told me that the distance was all in my head.

That you lay beside me, every time I turned in my sleep

And you held me tight each morning,

Not wanting me to leave

That we were out on the street all night,

Your hand in mine.

We were like clockwork

Like a sky burst into light

From a million shooting stars all at once

Like the inside of my stomach that flipped

Every time I heard your voice

Like the rush of a waterslide

You made me want to come up and breathe. Everyday.

We were like two parts of the same soul

Like a dancer's feet, in sync and graceful

It all still comes back to me in flashes

So vivid and real, I almost touch you

in my dreams only to be hit so hard with reality.

But repetition manifests reality.
I remember repeating your name again and again till it became my truth.
Smiling each time I said it like the counts of prayer beads
This whole beautiful person was mine with his rough edges, sharp bends.
And tiny scars that lined his soul like little thorns on desert trees.
For protection more often than attack.
This whole person was mine to hold and comfort with the palms of my hands and my heart to wrap around him during the passing storm.
I've kissed you too many times to imagine your lips on mine even when we are miles away
Felt your warmth reach my heart enough times to know how cold it can get in there
Seen you become me and me become you so many times that I can no longer tell the difference between us

We were fighting the world and we had no honour as armour or pride as knives

Just love.
Just love? They laughed so loud that I couldn't hear you say 'whatever it takes'
I couldn't hear behind the screams of hate, the love you kept so well hidden

We prayed to the same Gods
Breathed the same air,
Laughed at the same jokes,
Spoke the same words and yet,
Yet, we couldn't be together

Because in the fight with the world

The world always wins.

Untitled.

2014-06-26T13:14:00.001+05:30

It's important for me at this point in my life, to get back to writing. It gave meaning to my life before, a whole new meaning a whole new world. And I want that back. I want this space of my own, to dissolve into. So I am unearthing the million drafts I didn't complete. The stories I wanted to write that I didn't put down and each little thought I ever wanted to see in writing.

For the longest time

You were the only woman in his life

For the longest time he's observed you

Take care of the nest so meticulously each day

You do it so effortlessly

I want you to know that each time

He says "You're just like my mother'

I feel a sense of pride

I wasn't raised in a mansion

Or fed with a silver spoon
I wasn't brought up to think money is everything
Because only fools believe that’s true
I wasn't raised to live out my parents dream
But to proudly dream my own
I wasn't raised to walk the popular path
But to strongly pave my own
I wasn't raised with material things
But something great indeed
I was raised with love
And love is all I need

He's taught me that each day is a new beginning

And mistakes are only pebbles in the way of life

He's taught me that love is everlasting

He's taught me that anything was possible

If I only believed

He shows me that I could have everything

If I only dreamed

He's watched me grow up and stay young all at once

He tells me of you

All the little things

What makes you happy and what

drives you mad

but most importantly he tells me its you whose made him a man

And I want to say thank you for bringing him to the world

Mother, thank you for giving me what is mine.

Epiphany.

2014-06-26T01:28:00.001+05:30

Customs. Traditions. Ceremonies. Dressing up and feeling festive. I love India for the sheer spirit of celebration in the smallest of things. The uncles and aunties of the world provide all the amusement the world needs, but whenever I go for any ceremony I want to know the reason behind it and inevitably everything has a solid (so, they think) reason or story behind it.

For instance in my family on the 11th Day after the baby is born we do a little puja at home. Usually the mother's maiden house because that is where she usually stays when its closer to delivery and for a few months after that. You know practicing with nets before going into the field all by herself. So in this little event we must set a large scroll of paper and a pen and pray to the Gods of Destiny to come and write the baby's story. And then you leave Him to it alone. It is said that on that day the whole life of that baby is planned, it just got written. Fate sealed. Life decided. Bole toh done done london. Sounds absurd to the 21st century person, those that don't even believe in God or don't know which of the million to believe in. But think about it, how beautiful it sounds. If all of us, each one of us. Accepted this, that our lives are written, by a God who had our best interests at heart and spared those moments from His precious schedule to write your destiny. We must at least put up a good show, right?

All the good, the bad and the ugly. Its all there. Decided and you may fret and fight or flight but there is nothing you can do to change that. I love my God its a person I talk to like a friend. Its a part of me, My God. Its like we have a telephone line set up inside with full talk time always. Mother Mary is my guardian angel (I am a Gujarati), but Mother Mary is my God. My belief in the goodness of the world is because of Her. I have always everything without asking. When I am with Her I forget what I went for in the first place. And mumble something like "Do what is right for me" before I leave. She made sure I was happy, abundantly happy. But I lost my faith for a while, I fought, begged for what I wanted. I was being selfish. But she just smiled because a love like that doesn't let you go it holds your hand tighter still and she just said "But Darling - What is for you, will not pass you by."

Home.

2014-03-31T02:19:00.000+05:30

What is home to you?

Or you?

Is it the four walls you return to each night?

Or the edge of that cliff where you sit for hours

watching the sky change its color
Or is it your dreams?
where you get away from the truth of reality
Is it your school?
where you return to every now and then if only to watch
the kids and the commotion
or perhaps the familiarity of the peeling paint of the classroom walls
Is it that old house where you once lived?
The one with teak wood doors, and French windows that went all the way down
or is it the park where you fell and fell again

only to break into peals of laughter in the next second

Home?

Is it the movies you spend hours watching?

The happy or the sappy, the teenage romance and the political drama
Is it the book you picked up from the second hand bookstore?
The one you have read around 18 and a half times since
Is it the song of your favourite band?

The one which talks of love and hate
Or is the wine you kiss with your lips before you crash into your pillow.

Must be the characters of your favourite tv shows.

The ones who are just like you or ones you want to be like.

Home? Is it your pet, the bundle of joy that leaps at you

each time you walk through the door

Or is it your best friend who hugs you tight every time your heart aches

Must be your mother, she listens so intently to everything you share

Or the lover in whose arms time just passes you by

Must be the neighbor next door who lends you his books

and sometimes hears you read them on his perch

Home is squishy happiness, home is the melancholic pain

Home is the outcome of years of comfort

Or the stranger's pat in the time of need

Home is being immersed in the sea of the world

and yet staying afloat to find yourself

For me Home, is the sound of your voice,

the husk at the end of the line.

It is the poetry I begin to write but becomes a letter to you

Home is the warmth of your arms

that reaches me from miles away

Its the sound of your laughter

Its the smell of your shirt that I sleep in

Its the gasp of air I fight for

Each time you say "I love you"

Because home is you.

Goodbyes.

2014-03-12T00:29:00.001+05:30

Just something I've been thinking about off late;

You know that last moment. That one day after which you'll never see someone again, even if only from a distance. That person who was probably inconsequential to your life. Or maybe someone who was the center of it, at some point. Your friend from the library you just didn't speak to again. The best friend whose eye you can't meet anymore. The boy with those blue eyes that you'll never forget. And the girl who stood up for you when you forgot your lines on stage.

In that moment followed by an all consuming urge to go and give them a hug you wish to just let go. Of inhibitions, of the hate and of the misunderstanding. That moment when everything in the past seems like a pointless waste of emotion. Isn't this exactly why most breakups don't happen until the point where they are totally unavoidable? The thought of never. Never again, is scary. You don't want to know what might happen if you just cut the cords, so you stick with it instead of following your sunshine. You don't want to take that chance.

You want to make that move. Make amends because you read those stories about how telling someone you love them is so important, you never know when.

So you go rather awkwardly with a speech in your head and a slow stride walk to them. Scared, of humiliation? That maybe it is just you and not them. But all it takes is 20 seconds of courage. All anything ever takes is 20 seconds of courage.

You make that speech; "You know what? I don't want to be saying 10, 15, 20 years from now. You know my best friend from 12th grade, wonder what she is upto. I want to know."

Goodbyes have a way of bringing people closer.