A Grain of Sand

The Quiet Corner Within

2026-03-17T14:44:52.538+05:30

There’s a red deeper than crimson hue,

There’s a blue deeper than indigo.

Lost and cynical you may be today...

yet there’s a love that moves slow, steady and true,

stronger than all you’ve ever been through.

Somewhere it waits, patient and true,

as you wait for it too.

As the dawn draws near, pale yet clear,

after frost-bitten hours of the night.

You return to your anchor, that inward light,

That steel resolve you barely show,

In that quiet corner that only you know,

I will meet you there, soft and low.

When I feel you looking at me,

I almost turn , almost let you see.

In the pitter-patter of the Landour rains

we walk the drenched road downhill again.

You heave a sigh while beholding me,

and under our shared umbrella,

my heart just skips a beat.

Beneath the overcast sky,

my heart is full , and I don’t ask why.

As moments slip quietly by,

the sound of the rain brings us back to the time.

Yet, something lingers, warm and true,

not loud, not named,

Just felt by me…

and felt by you.

The Muse

2026-01-15T12:46:00.018+05:30

In silence, we walk,

wearing decadent rags of our past,

walking on eggshells,

over our fragile cast.

When rationale loses its meaning,

the will to fight—receding.

Some call it the path of least resistance;

I call it annihilation, unlistening.

Straddling, moving amidst us,

still clutching a sliver of hope,

it grows louder—

this deafening silence,

feigning a measure,

a thin veil of pretense.

And still, in its disconcerting comfort—

it finds itself a muse:

a milieu of thoughts,

perhaps to delay the inevitable.

But maybe we are already there,

and all this is just a ruse.

As we walk—

in silence.

I wish

2024-01-02T10:52:00.003+05:30

I wish

I could stand still in the moment

Hold my coffee and call it a day

De clutter, with eyes shut

Stand in the breeze, as-the dewed leaf sways

I wish

We hit pause and look back at the road travelled,

Smile a little that our life has been so full,

With moments so complete,

Made up of fuzzy memories and a million bickering…

I wish

Among the chatter of numerous thoughts leeching to the bones

There is one thought we snuggle upto,

Where you and I built our life together

Despite disagreements, however herculean…

I wish

You can hear my unsung song

Which echoes on in the stark silence,

In every nook and cranny of the sometimes deserted room

Once lit up by your Incandescence…

I wish,

We don’t keep wishing throughout

But find it in ourselves, the courage,

To take the action; to be true to us before being to others,

And for once and for all, end this sacrilege.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Lamp post

2023-01-13T23:12:00.013+05:30

There is a lamppost emanating a yellowish, pallid glow. A glow enough to illuminate the bench she is sitting on, amid the park she had often frequented. Occasionally, a breeze blows and ruffles the leaves on the trees and the pavement. Sometimes, the yellowed leaves fall off the trees, which line the pitch-dark night, onto the ground. The whole spectacle is punctuated by light from the lamppost in the backdrop.

She has been there for an hour or two, she cannot remember for how long. It isn't that cold, but she does feel chilly sometimes. Somehow, just sitting there makes her feel more comfortable and sung, shrouded in her thoughts and at more peace than going back to her home. Occasionally, some people walk past with their backpacks, rucksacks, or their bikes either alone or in groups of 3s and 4s some quiet and some giggling away in a language she doesn't quite fully understand. All she understands is that they are happy, at least at the moment. And that is something she should try out too. Maybe, this is something she must commit to her memory. And sometimes, she steals a glance at some solitary couple walking in the middle of the park holding hands and enjoying their walk. How fleeting all of this is, she thinks. But maybe fleeting isn't always bad as long as we realize that change is the only constant of life and nothing stays the same, at least not in the way we expect it to be. She realizes how cynical she has becomes - from an utter romanticist to this! Everything appears to be an unwarranted hyperbole of love and affection.

Her phone buzzes a couple of times interrupting her train of thought. She decides to turn her phone upside down. She isn't a fan of attending calls at times, but it is often herculean to make them understand. In the following second, she asks herself, does she understand what she wants? Thrown into this existential crisis, she looks far away and thinks of that solitary couple who had walked past some minutes ago.

Her head soon turns into a milieu of thoughts that she cannot process. Thoughts of everything she has seen and touched upon in this life, career, health, relationships, travels- taken and yet to be taken. Traveling young, extensively, has taught her that every few kilometers, people are different and that it is our differences that make us characteristically beautiful and poetic. Else we would all be prosaic, breathing in and out the air of redundancies. Differences should be celebrated instead of casting aspersions. Traveling young has made her challenge the stereotypes and break the norm of what has been and step out into what could be. But it comes at its cost. And you often have to weigh the odds. And then make a choice. You realize it is often not free will. More importantly, you realize that free will is nothing but a misnomer.

She looks down at her diary and wants to write but words, for the longest duration, have eluded her now. In a soulless pursuit, she takes out her hand to pen down her random, littered thoughts but her hands freeze, as the air around her turns crisper. She realizes it is time to leave. She has forever been on the run, never really reaching anywhere. She closes her eyes, smooths away a wisp of hair from her eyes, sits upright, and tries to relax as the lamppost flickers for a minute.

मुलाक़ातें

2022-06-29T20:13:00.001+05:30

तुम्हारे अजब मिज़ाज और कुछ हर्फ़ हमारे,

सिमटे हुए इस ज़िंदगी में यह दो पल हमारे

यह गीटीयाँ, यह सागर, यह रेत की बातें…

उनमे उलझते, सुलझते सिलसिले यूँ आते जाते…

अभी है कई रास्ते जिनसे हम गुज़रे नहीं,

अभी … ख़त्म नहीं हुई हमारी तुम्हारी मुलाक़ातें…

A Tale Of Two Cities

2022-05-22T23:11:00.006+05:30

Living on a loaned time,

In a life, they say is mine…

Is a tale of two cities,

Cities, separated by seas and several heartbeats.

Cities, each, trying to chase a feeling

A feeling, constantly eluding…

Yet, spreading too thin,

And in the process, dwarfing everything …

Living on a loaned time since they've forgotten when?

Wondering when will their time begin?

And, will the two cities be one again?

So yes, A tale of two cities,

Cities, separated by different ambitions yet throbbing on the same longing…

White Flakes

2021-12-10T18:05:00.003+05:30

Ever so gently, it falls

Amidst the humdrum and,

the struggles of the day’s long haul

And alights atop everything possible

And just like that, without a whisper…

It turns the banal into beautiful!

And me, scattered with thoughts so random,

These white flakes sit upon me such

That all words of prose become a poem…

***

Blades of Grass

2021-11-21T17:44:00.001+05:30

The thoughts speak,

Like the rustled sound of the autumn leaves...

Have come thus far; whither to now?

I think, sitting on the fence, alone somehow...

And a gale of crispness wafts through the air,

Rummaging the hair,

Silencing the thoughts,

As I lie sun-soaked on the blades of grass.

One Way Ticket

2021-07-26T13:28:00.002+05:30

There’s a feeling that stretches to you from me,

That now fills up cracks and crevices in the memory,

Of the words not spoken and

the distances not travelled

A feeling that you’re well, wherever you are

And not in a way you show, but well to your bones

And that you haven’t lost that sheen in your eyes

That you’ve achieved what you’d set out for, and if not, it’s only made you a tad wise

That sometimes you sit under the red autumn tree

And stare at your phone unblinkingly

And reminisce of times when it’d flash my name

And in that instant, with all your might, fight that urge to reach out to me.

That could we have taken that one way ticket

To a place where the world wasn’t a monochrome

To our Neverland, never to return …

To a place we could call home

There’s a feeling that stretches to you from me

In the crevices of memory that continue to live on

With a multitude of thoughts to battle …

So what if the words are not spoken and

the distances are not travelled?

***

Letters

2021-05-25T14:13:00.004+05:30

Sitting languidly in your chair,

While everyone is caught in their own cacophony,

Do you steal some moments to think of me?

Do you still have those handwritten letters

And do you caress the contours of their folds wistfully?

Do you wipe the mist from the pane of the past,

Does that light up your face unwittingly?

And in a trance when you saunter in your garden

Do you forget that the coffee you are holding has been cold for awhile

The kind that ,once upon a time, you’d shared with me?

Waves

2021-02-05T17:28:00.002+05:30

If I douse the din of my thoughts,

In this deafening lashing of the waves,

Set everything free and see what remains,

Would your voice still resound in my head again?

In you I will find all my answers, I had thought

Yet here I am, trying to find my anchor...

Rudderless then, rudderless now...

Was the idea of you better than you, I wonder!

I watch the sun go down along the horizon,

While carrying an avalanche of emotions; Trying to tame…

And just like that one, big wave breaks into many small waves,

Would my ego surrender too, and finally make a bargain?

मंज़र

2021-01-21T21:40:00.001+05:30

ग़र सबके बाद यह मंज़र मिले

तो ऐ ज़िंदगी, तेरे सारे सितम मंज़ूर हैं

जानती तो नहीं कि कहा रहता है खुदा

पर यक़ीनन ,इस धरती पे यह जन्नत ज़रूर है।

सितारे

2020-10-02T22:20:00.011+05:30

मंज़िल तो छोड़ आये कहीं पीछे, कई मीलों दूर

ज़माना क्या कहेगा , बस चलते रहे ब-दस्तूर,

थोड़ा समझौता कर लिया उस दिन हमने भी

थोड़ा फुसला लिया अपने दिल को भी

आज वो कहते है आबाद है हम, यक़ीनन

उन्हें क्या बताएं ,मुसाफिर थे तब ,मुसाफिर ही रहे हम

गुज़रे थे कुछ लम्हें, बेगाने हुए थे सितारे

थोड़े कुछ हमारे ,थोड़े कुछ तुम्हारे

I am waiting

2020-05-21T23:17:00.001+05:30

I am waiting,

For a time when stepping out in the sun amidst people,

Will not be with a mind shrouded in fear,

For a time when one will not ache and long at length,

To meet and hug those who are near and dear.

I am waiting,

For a time when despite the gentle breeze and warmth of the sun,

Getting up in the morning will not feel so sunken,

For a time when travelling the untraveled and travelling it all,

Will be without a hitch and its idea, not so forsaken.

I am waiting,

To undertake that rail travel and go back to my place,

Where love is unadulterated and care, unconditional

Where all its trails are committed to memory by rote,

And where the night echoes with its characteristic lull

I am waiting,

For a time when there is no bargain between safety and leisure,

Where the mind has its sanctuary and is not rusted,

In the hackneyed and the bickering that arise when you live too close,

For a time when our wisdom is not so stunted.

I am waiting,

For when there is a balance between destroying one thing to develop another,

For a time when we will begin to understand minimalism..

But,

While I wait for this wait to end, little do I realise how much the Earth waited

to put an end to our paralysing stupidity and our imbecile enthusiasm.

***

तू हासिल नहीं

2020-01-29T10:36:00.001+05:30

तू नायाब भी है, तू शामिल भी |

तू हुक़्म भी है,तू साहिल भी |

यूँ तो तेरी सल्तनत की रिवायत सुनी है हमने,

आज तेरा ज़िक्र तो है, पर तू हासिल नहीं |

Glossary:

नायाब : difficult to find

सल्तनत: Kingdom

रिवायत: Narrative

Impasse

2019-04-12T17:02:00.001+05:30

Staring into nothingness,

With wind ruffling the hair,

And the incessant chatter of thoughts in the head,

The creases along the hand are laid bare.

In two minds, and a soulless pursuit,

With a heart that’s there and yet not,

In the skin of the game I want to know nothing of,

An array of possibilities, sought and dropped.

With the reflection in the mirror I can barely recognise,

From what I was to what I’ve become,

Treading the trajectory of those countless illusions,

With every passing second, to those illusions, I succumb...

A hundred thousand questions

2019-01-06T17:12:00.001+05:30

A hundred thousand questions, I ask of you

In quest for the soulful,

In a hundred thousand way of silence you answer,

Of the hackneyed and the hopeful...

सराब

2018-07-01T09:50:00.000+05:30

और फिर कुछ ऐसी हवा चली,

कि परत दर परत उतरती गई,

कुछ ऐसे बे-नक़ाब हुए अपने ही आइने में,

कि जिसकी रिफ़ाक़त में हुए थे मसरूफ़,उसी से हिज्र में बेपनाह तस्कीन मिली।

तू ही बता कैसे करते जुस्तजू उस सिलसिले की

जिसकी यारी में हमें रूहानियत न मिली?

अश्क बहाते भी तो किसके तसव्वुर में ?

जब तेरी छुहन दिल की चौखट से ही लौट चली?

कुछ बे-हर्फ़ से हैं हम आज, कुछ शर्मिंदा भी,

मोहब्बत का नाम ऐसे ज़ाया किया, उफ़ यह हमारी बे-फ़िक्री।

तू तो बस दरिया में दूर तक फैला था एक सराब,

जैसे रोज़ ,मौजूद-ओ-मयस्सर, कोई मुलाकात।

Glossary:

बे-नक़ाब : unveiled

जुस्तजू: quest

रिफ़ाक़त: companionship

मसरूफ़ : engrossed

हिज्र : separation

तस्कीन : comfort/सुकून/satisfaction

रूहानियत : soulful

अश्क : tears

तसव्वुर : imagination/ thought

बे-हर्फ़ : speechless

ज़ाया : waste

बे-फ़िक्री : casual attitude

सराब : mirage/illusion

मौजूद-ओ-मयस्सर : easily available

Nostalgia

2018-06-17T21:15:00.003+05:30

Dehradun is nostalgia. Like an old hand-knit sweater of yesteryears unearthed suddenly from an old wooden shelf. Or stumbling upon a handmade birthday card with sweet nothings scribbled all over. Or your last day school shirt copiously inked in kept and unkept promises of your friends. A sliver of time etched in the indelible state of what used to be.

When the early April morning still wore a half-sleeve sweater and the month of June alternated between sunshine and a heavy downpour. When an impromptu ride to Mussoorie was the biggest adventure ever and a halt at the Maggi point was the most romantic destination in the world. When the guests insisted on being served tea and morning breakfast in mother’s dew laden, well-carpeted garden to enjoy the breath-taking view of Mussoorie. And when at night, the sky lit up with a hundred thousand lights of the houses in the hill and you could actually feel the stars at your arm’s reach.

Dehradun is nostalgia. Nostalgia of the smell of Sunrise rusks when inside Paltan Bazar and the customary stop at Gaylord’s. Of rolling roads and two wheelers on them with an utter lack of traffic sense; of cottages and of litchi tress growing in them, of FRI with it's undulating roads and the sprawling Greeco-Roman edifice where you could hear the screeching sound of crickets at night; of the roadside thukpas and momos and the erstwhile Ellora bakery leading upto the school, of Convent schools from the British Era and conveniently short distances between any two points in the town.

A fun-filled, idyllic, dreamy world like the ones in Enid Blyton novels, of English Book Depot and a coffee shop built into one and of growing up children injecting fervour and excitement in an otherwise quaint, quite, sleepy town, Dehradun is indeed nostalgia.

They say home is not a place, it is feeling. An old habit which dies hard, as trying to take a glimpse into the outside through a blurred windowpane hit by the rain; a wistful peek into the bygone, a reminder to the present and a hope into the future.

पहरा

2018-03-11T14:09:00.001+05:30

एक रात, पलक झपकते मैंने रात से पूछा,

जब मैं सोती हूँ,तो तू क्यूँ पहरा देती है?

वो कहती है,’ तेरे यह जो अनेक सपने है,

कभी मद्धम,कभी एकाएक तेरे सिर्हाने आते है,

फिर तेरी पलकों से यूँ निरझर बहते है।

गर, देर सवेर तू उन्हें भूला भी दे,

तेरी परछाईं बन तेरा साथ निभाते है,

उनकी भी एक आस है,

कि कभी इस निशा से कहीं दूर,

किसी दिन वो भी उजाला देखेंगे

की तुझे अपने होने पे हो सके गुरूर,

उस मुकम्मल घड़ी की वज़ह बनेंगे।’

जब तक सो सके तो सोती रह पर,

जिस रात तू सो ना पाए इन अधूरे सपनो के आवेग में

उस रात की ताक में मैं पहरा देती हूँ।

रास्ते

2017-11-02T16:21:00.001+05:30

दूर कहीं उन बिस्मिल रास्तों में,
बस यूँ ही चलते चले हम।
जहाँ ना वक़्त के सवाल थे,
ना कहीं सज्दा करने को जवाब थे।

यूँ तो ज़हन में कई बातें थीं,
पर उस मंज़र को तोड़ने की ज़ुर्रत ना थी,
फिर एक मौसम ख़ामोशियों ने दस्तक दी,
और ना जाने कितनी सूनी घड़ियाँ यूँ गुज़रती गयीं।

कुछ देर सवेर जब बदली छटी ,
एक नज़र इधर ,एक मुस्कुराहट उधर ,
और बस यूँ ही, फिर एक बार
बिन मतलब बातों की लड़ियाँ सजती गयी,

एक अजीब से सुकून में, तेरे ही फ़ितूर में,
तुझे रूठ के मनाने में, अलग होके छटपटाने में,
अपने ही इस शोर में, कहीं खोए हुए उन सन्नाटों में,
हाँ , हाँ उन्ही बिस्मिल रास्तों में,
तेरे ही साथ से तो बने हमारे हौसले थे।

The Bridge

2017-10-17T19:23:00.001+05:30

I have learnt that some definitions need to be redefined. They may have to be done for many reasons, sometimes, because of you grow out of something, sometimes, because your life turns a new leaf , and sometimes, simply because a changed definition is vital for survival. A change of perspective. Like looking over the water while atop a bridge. The same water, the same bridge, and the same city. But the place you look at it from, your view changes. And that is what we need sometimes, a different spot over the bridge. I am standing in a new place over the bridge now, a place from where I can also see the place where I stood last. When I had a childlike faith and an unfettered urge to swim in the waters I knew I would drown in. That place was then, and this place is now. I would not say one is better than the other, because it is because of one that I am in another.

There is wind in my hair today as I sit by the shore, and the few layers that cover me still make me shiver a little. I’m waiting for someone in a bench in the park but it is a good wait I know, because I have a smile on my face as the sun kisses my soul. With the wind slapping against my face, I try to stare out in the open at the waters ahead and realize how free I feel. And the square, the city by the bay and the little birds, may carry with them some semblance of the old, but I let it fall away like autumn leaves.

तारे

2017-08-01T16:46:00.000+05:30

ये जो झिलमिल चमकते तारे हैं,
कभी मद्धम, कभी तेज़ उजाले हैं,
दूर उस दुनिया से शायद ये भी टकाटक हमें देखते हैं,
कभी एक, कभी अनेक, कहीं हममें भी ये तारे खोजते हैं।
***

“To the people who look at the stars and wish"- Sarah J. Mass

Our Story

2017-07-07T18:37:00.000+05:30

From the iron cage of my fragile illusions,

Just like that, one day, I set you free,

To let you soar out into your own being, without me,

And, disillusion every vein of our story …

An illusion like a feeling that shoots down the spine,

When, out of the blue, plays a familiar song and fills the air,

In between the ever expanding distance that we’ve become,

When above the din of everyone’s chatter, it’s each other’s silence we hear…

An illusion of whispers that a dry riverbed of rustled leaves make,

Which you choose to listen to, while escaping the chaos in your head,

And, secretly wish that the wind that drifted you so far away from me,

Could carry back those letters unwritten and those words unsaid…

An illusion, that the way I am is the way you are,

And while I am thinking of you, you are thinking of me,

We are reminded of the verse we read in that room together,

When we thought if love is another name for the pull of the moon on the sea…

And so, from the iron cage of my fragile illusions,

Just like that, one day, I set you free,

To let you soar out into your being and find me there,waiting,

And restore back my faith in our story...

****

मुझे नहीं पता

2017-03-02T16:10:00.000+05:30

तुम,
महज़ एक अलफ़ाज़,
या हवा को चीरती हुई एक गूँज?
सावन के पत्ते की कम्पन,
या मेरी स्मृतियों में चढ़ती हुई बारीक धूल ?
मुझे नहीं पता ৷

तुम,
कोरे कागज़ की सूखी स्याही ,
या डूबते सूरज की आख़िरी ख़्वाहिश?
सांझ में दो दिलों की उठती-गिरती तरंग,
या किसी मरुस्थल में टूट के पड़ी झमझमाती बारिश ?
मुझे नहीं पता ৷

तुम,
मेरे ज़हन में कोई पनपता एह्साह ,
जिसका अस्तित्व भी शायद है एक कल्पना,
अलफ़ाज़ दू उसे , तो वो नश्वर,
रखु गुप्त, तो एक अप्रत्यक्ष वेदना
मुझे नहीं पता ৷

तुम,
जितना मैं तुम्हारे करीब हूँ ,
उतनी ही तुम मुझसे ओझल हो,
जिन आँखों ने तुम्हे तलाशा उम्र भर,
आज उन्ही आँखों को तुम बोझल हो ৷

शायद मुझे है पता कि तुम कौन हो,
बस दीदार करने की चेष्ठा नहीं है,
आज एक मदहोशी है , तुम्हारी खुमारी है,
और इस खुमारी से विचलित होने की अभी इच्छा नहीं है ৷