Sunday, January 5, 2014

My speech at ISB Leadership Summit

Monday, September 23, 2013


Do you prefer the loneliness that accompanies peace or the love that accompanies chaos?

The best little note.

I'm with you for who you are not what I think you should be. Be free, be crazy, be Riddhi and walk out of here with anything you put your mind to. I love you and I know you can do it.

Stay hungry always. For life and love.

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Strawberry fields forever

Blurry just so. 

That pain's back
It's piercing me
a thousand times so. 

Maybe some of us aren't meant for happiness
Maybe some of us are just destined to write. 


Alive and Kicking? *cough*

Last Post: January 30th 2012.

That's the longest I've gone without writing. Well, writing sense atleast.

I don't think I'm worthy of facing a 'writer's block'. Random blogging here and there doesn't count as writing that can face that block.

I'd always felt a sense of pride in how well I could keep both sides of me happy- the left brained and the right brained. I remember all those business school applications where I harped on about how i am the perfect balance between creativity and reality, how I was a word brain and a number brain.

I want to laugh so loudly that I scare my neighbours.

All I seem to be doing for the last 6 months is trying to satisfy the left brain. You know, job, career, MBA, 'learning' and all those jazzy words I will eventually use to victimize people in boardrooms. The thing is, they all tell me am right-brained. The other thing is, I cant seem to write anymore.

Forget vocabulary which seems to have gone for a toss altogether (see, I couldn't even come up with a phrase better than gone-for-a-toss. Yuck.), I've run out of imagination. And that, for the love of God, is very scary.

I will soon become of them. I will come out of a fancy business school with all new vocabulary that makes business sense. I will be one of the homogenous products this factory produces. Even a major in Economics did not do that to me. Hell, a post graduation in advertising did not make me feel so 'soulless'.

Maybe I'm just making excused. Maybe I just need ice-cream.

We'll find out, soon enough.

Wednesday, January 30, 2013



I want to write.

I want to write until I start rubbing my eyes out of exhaustion, until they well up because of the strain, until it's dawn and I realize I've missed the dark night.

I want to write until every single thought on my mind has been worded and stares into my face.

I want to write until I feel drained of every emotion that I haven't expressed, even to myself.

Today, I want to write like I've never written before.

Today, for the first time, I want to write what no one has ever read before- in content and in craft.

But today, I just don't know where to begin.


Saturday, December 29, 2012

A Delhi girl who hasn't been raped. Yet.

I'm a 23 year old girl from Delhi. As I cheered the citizens' rise to the occasion and dedicated protests on ground and on the internet, I was guilty of a sense of relief. I was relieved and thankful that I did not have the same fate as another 23 year old girl from Delhi. Not yet, at least.

Does this mean that I don't have the same fate? I can't be sure. Just because I haven't been raped in 23 years doesn't mean that I will never be raped. My grandmother always threw a fit if I wanted to step out of the house post 7:00 PM. Late Night movies are still a sure shot no, whenever I go back home. A week or so back, I called my grandmother and thanked her for not letting me go for that late night movie. Next time I go back home, I'm going to request my parents to pick me up if I have to go out for dinner. But I'm not sure if I'll still be 'safe'. So maybe, I will just stick to lunch and 'day' outings. Actually, raging hormones and/or alcoholism cannot be attributed to a time of the day. Maybe, I won't go out at all. Maybe, I will ensure I don't let anyone in my family go out and leave me alone at home. Maybe for all my independence , education and belief in equality, I'm subconsciously becoming more regressive than my own grandmother can handle.

I don't live in Delhi anymore. But I'm a Delhi girl. I was born and brought up there. I'm not saying rape is a city thing, but I want to tell you about what it's like to be raised in the capital of this very attractive, emerging nation that's opened itself up to FDI, this growing economy that dreams of double digit GDP growth. I want to tell you what it's like to be a woman living in the capital of the largest democracy in the world. It's scary. It's pathetically, depressingly frightening. It's a freaking nightmare. As I write this, I'm scared of using a 'westernized' slang or the mildest form of swearing because then I will be a dented woman who thinks it's cool to protest. I don't want to protest. I don't want to make this viral. I just want to know what I've done wrong to live in fear.

"Is it my fault that I'm a girl?", someone had asked me many years ago, when we were still in college discussing another heinous rape. In the capital of India, these incidents are far from rare. "Fault", I had thought to myself. So being a girl is associated with being faulty. We are of course objects of desire and it should only make us happy that the men want us so much. Why do we want to reduce infanticide anyway? It is mostly sex-selective. The parents are justified in their heads. Why go through the torture of bringing up the girl child when you can raise a son without any fear. The parents are scared too. They're afraid to always live in fear.

For years now, the movies have shown the hero saving the girl from being raped. We've all watched these movies and cheered the hero on. So when I was a child, I learnt that 'Prince Charming' was the boy who wouldn't rape me, before marriage at least. I learnt that I should look for the 'nice' guy. The nice guy is the one who will save me from the sex offenders. Because it was perfectly natural to have sex offenders roam around. When a man does not force himself on you, he's nice. That's not the definition of a nice girl though. She had to conquer a lot to be able to be called that. I grew up in a very liberal, understanding and for the lack of a better word, 'modern' family. They love me and I'm allowed to make my own decisions. They're not ashamed of having two daughters. But I am. I'm very ashamed and I want to apologize to them that I argued about curfew. I'm sorry ma, pa to have you guys live in fear every day of your lives. I'm sorry that you're actually glad both your daughters have moved out of home. Because home means Delhi. I'm sorry   that your daughters are safer living alone in other cities than living at home. Home is Delhi.

Let me tell you about the city I call home. It has taught me that despite the scorching heat, I cannot leave the house in shorts because when I do, the impeccable men on the road will find it necessary to pass lewd comments. It taught me that even if I'm covered head to toe and walking on the pavement in what they call a 'safe, posh' colony, the men will halt their cars, look me up and down and violate me with their eyes, so what if I am standing outside a religious place. It doesn't matter because we're the faulty sex. But my home is a safe place. My home has a new flyover construction everyday. My home hosted the Common Wealth Games. My home is growing economically. My home has beautiful roads and fabulous architecture. In the bigger scheme of things, it really doesn't matter if my home is stunted in it's thought process. That's fine. It's not my fault I'm a woman. It's not theirs either.

I'm a 23 year old media professional who pays rent, tries to cook, lives alone. I'm the girl who's known to always have an opinion. I'm the girl who's known to stand up for what she believes is right. I'm the girl, they say, who will defend her argument till she's dead. But I'm a girl. So naturally I'm defenseless. If were in Delhi at the time of the protests, I'm not sure if I would have gone. What's to say I wouldn't be violated while protesting against sexual violation? It doesn't matter what I do or what I think; how good I am or not because  my home has taught me to live in fear. Constant fear. When I'm in the safety of my home, I need to carry pepper spray and harmful weapons, I need to know where to kick a man, should he attack me. I need to ensure I don't use public transport, even if that's all I can afford. I need to ensure, I have a man to escort me all the time. I need to ensure  that man knows all forms of martial arts so he can actually defend himself and me. Otherwise, he'd be attacked too. I'm a woman you see, a dented one at that. It's only valid that I have to cry out loud for respect, have hash tags created for my safety and have candle light protests to keep men from ripping my clothes off. But they'll always undress me with their eyes. And I'm okay with it. Because that's what home's always been to me.


Monday, November 26, 2012

Guess What

There's a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach,
That's traveled to the rest of me gradually
It's made my eyes blurry
And my head heavy
But I'm still looking at you
And I'm still smiling. 


Thursday, November 15, 2012

If Only

I remember how it ended.

I remember how it ended, each time.

I told you that it was the last time and that I was done.'With what?' you asked slyly, knowing fully well that I'll never admit it, even to myself. I looked at you with a straight face but you could sense my nerves. I could pretend all I wanted but you could always bloody sense my confusion, my fear. You knew the jigsaw puzzle was apart and you knew every piece, by heart. So you toyed with the pieces, smiled as you put them together in your mind and then, just like that, you kept the pieces back- apart. Because it wasn't your job to solve this puzzle.

So I kept the straight face up and replied "This. Whatever it is." It wasn't the answer you wanted. But it was the answer you expected. I was being juvenile, you said and I'd told you so be it. Then I let the thought bother me till I couldn't bother anymore and we exchanged some bitterness. How very typical of us, I had thought to myself. Every confrontation dug the same old graves and the same disagreements came to life, again. They stood in the space between us until one of us found a new reason to curse and a new accusation  to highlight. I screamed. You asked me to lower my volume. So I screamed some more and called you impossible. Twenty seconds later, I whispered my apologies and told you I was done. I really did think I was. I knew I couldn't handle the conflict anymore but I was wrong to believe this was over. I was far from done.

We were cyclical, whatever we were. We managed to reach the same confrontation repeatedly but all the while we refused to acknowledge what we were. I was too egoistical to ever be in love and you were too proud to be in love with me. Or maybe, I was too scared to be in love with someone who knew me so well only to never love me back. It was the latter, we both knew. The problem is I'd lost control. I was hopeless, unaware, naive and plain stupid. They'd always said that when these things happen, one would be overwhelmed with joy. They'd always said when these things happen, one could safely assume one was in love. They were plain stupid too.

Love can't be a shooting pain in the chest. Love can't be a madness that doesn't end. Love can't be buried resentment fenced by memories of long lost laughter. So it wasn't love. Whatever it was. It should have ended a long time ago. If love really is those things, then why is it supposed to make you happy? You see, I really am better off not asking these questions. I really am better off with my pretend straight face.

So we swung back and forth, you and I. If only I'd looked closer then to realize that you were constant, static while I swung back and forth. And how. I was foolish, they tell me now. They are foolish too. They couldn't feel what I did, could they? I knew that game you were playing all along, but for some unknown reason I chose to be played along. It felt like for once, I wasn't controlling. The problem is I wasn't flowing freely either- you were controlling. I wish you knew you were doing that. And just like, I wasn't done and we weren't over with it, whatever it was.

But I remember the end of the many endings vividly. I told you once again that I was done. Only this time, I really did have a straight face. I wasn't feigning my indifference. Sometimes it hurts so much it makes one numb. I couldn't feel that shooting pain in the chest anymore. The wound was so old and so deep that I had become indifferent. And how. I was wary and worried that I wasn't really the end. But it was and I told myself that if nothing else, I know what to not get into, henceforth. So I took a deep breath, opted out of the cycle and let the wound heal, by itself in open air telling myself that I've learnt my lesson. The moral of story was thrown into my face like unwelcome cold wind and I thought atleast I could survive a storm now.

As I carefully go through that grand ending today, I sit back and laugh. It's not the kind of laughter that rings in the ears and makes me feel light. It's a cold chuckle. Mostly because I don't know another appropriate reaction. We're done but I don't think I've learnt my lesson. Because deny it as I may, I'm falling into the same pattern again with someone who will remind you of yourself. I want to stop before it's too late because I know I won't be able to handle it. But you see, I just can't seem to get a grip. Feels like there's a stronger force pulling me into this. Whatever this is. Feels like I'm not controlling. Feels like am flowing freely. Or am I?


Monday, October 29, 2012


Because in essence, we're all just pathetic, needy attention seeking whores.


Tuesday, September 25, 2012

So love me

In that dream, I seldom talk about,
I knew why I hated you
And I never was shy to shout it out

In that memory of a long time ago
I knew I was weak,
Too weak to let go.

But every time I try to live today,
I think of how much you can be hated
And how you can be loved so.

You're everything I hate
And you're everything I'm afraid to love
So I'll walk out on you, again
Because I'm too scared to stay

The greener grass was never mine
And the skies, they frown at me; all the bloody time
But the stars, they remind me of you
And how I wanted to see you shine.

So let's prolong this mockery
let's deny this pretence
Let's remain on the opposite sides of the fence
Let me walk away, love
Because it's the only thing I've ever known. 


Saturday, August 4, 2012

The night in those light bulbs,
The noise of the dark,
Tequila shots
That pierced the heart

The music around
couldn't drown out his laugh
So she danced and she cried
And she cried and she danced


This is not it. Is it?

This can't be the it, can it?

It's been a while now. Long enough to have the facts fade away into a mere memory, but not long enough  to stop feeling the pain. The pain that lives up to it's promise of being faithful to me better than you do, or ever could. The real issue was I never did blame you, or ever could. But as I sit on a couch narrating our story to a friend, the pain felt as fresh as it did, the first time I felt it- that shooting pain from within my chest that caused a knot in my stomach. I couldn't explain it then and I can't explain it now, not to you or to myself. So I carry on with my animated monologue only to realize it's not much of a story. We don't have a story and we'll never have one. But what we do have is rare too- white noise. Special? Not so much. But rare, indeed. The kind of rare I couldn't explain then and I can't explain now.

I think the problem is I remember everything. Or is it that I can't forget? There are some memories that play like the scenes of your favourite movie, in your head. You're one of those. Every once in a while, seemingly out of nowhere, there are white flashes of memory. In remembering the facts, the incidents, the places, the clothes, I'd remember the laughter, the tears, the denial and the restraint. I think the problem is that I remember everything. Or is it that I choose not to forget?

I'm being vague again, you'd take no time to point out. But that's just me. It always has been. But in being ambiguous in my expression, I gave you the biggest gift. In being vague, I let you believe it'll be fine. It always  worked that way, right? But as i talked in circles and took long pauses, could you not see the pain in my eyes? My eyes always gave it away- them bastards. You watched them every so closely, out of the corner of your eye, slyly. And then you looked away, just like that. The thing is, I was watching you closely too and in knowing each other so well, we always knew what was not being said. But we both ignored it. I was scared and you weren't ready. And then I wasn't ready and you weren't interested.

So we never had a story, you see? Because all we had was denial. We denied the drama, the anger, the pain and the love. Love, they say conquers all but ours couldn't conquer our denial. I'm still very cautious about it, you know. I laugh you off as a bad memory and occasionally quote us as what's not meant to be. But if you exemplify everything wrong and unfunny, why is it that I can't forget? And what can explain this knot in my stomach?

I think it's because we never put an end. We're supposed to draw a line, apparently. I'm told an actual line helps. But I wouldn't know cause we just faded away- in different directions. Not opposite, of course- we're not even synchronized enough to do that right. So we're stuck this way- dull and faded in different directions that are neither parallel nor opposite to each other. We still know all that hasn't been said but we continue to ignore it. So all we're left with is restrained anger, unexplained betrayal and memories of some bad mood swings. I'm also left with pain. The kind of pain I like to keep a secret because I assume that would nullify it. I know am wrong. I know you think am silly. But I'm exhausted.

So is this what it's come to? We don't have a story . But will we never have one?

This can't be it, right?

Or is it?


Sunday, May 27, 2012


I don't think I'll ever make enough money.

I was told once that there are three defining areas of balance in one's life: Love, Work, Family, in no particular order. At any point of time, there are just two areas that are going for you. I couldn't disagree with this statement because it was applicable to my life and how.

But I've reached a point where I don't think even one of them are going. So maybe this a rant about a life I'm tired of. Or maybe this is just a phase that will pass eventually. But this seems to last way too long to be a phase and I'm actually afraid of the eventuality.

It's just one of those times when you need a win and you need it bad. The problem is, you're not contesting and  this limbo is bound to accompany the choice of standing in the background and watching.

Maybe, it's time to get up and take notice of the mediocrity that has become my own life. Maybe it's time pull yourself out and above.

Maybe it's time for some beatles.


Wednesday, May 16, 2012

New Goal, somewhat.

Deadline: 30th June

Write what? 3 short stories.

Really? Umm.. I never guarantee anything. Even to myself.

But let's give this a shot. For what it's worth. And what it's not.


Monday, May 14, 2012


You're the throbbing pain in my mind,
You're the emptiness I threw up on,
You're the guilt I collapsed to,
You're the only one I ever laughed to. 

Friday, April 27, 2012

Et Two

Two of them,
and an awkward silence
Noises in the head
How the truth the bled.

Two of them,
catching their breath
Afraid of the reality
that lay ahead.

Two of them,
staring into space
remembering the lie,
the tight embrace.

Two of them,
lined up in thought
waiting for the other
to talk.

Two of them,
denying what was
dreading what will be
stuck in what is.

Two of them,
in limbo
One shied away
The other lost.


Saturday, April 21, 2012

Inertia and what it brings

I'm restless in a very strange way. Restless for change, restless to change. But all this while comfortable with this disconcerting inertia that has become a routine now. It's inertia and it's disconcerting. And I've become comfortable in it. There are so many bundles of contradiction I'm surrounded by right now and this is just one of them.

No, I'm now wallowing in self pity or telling everyone life sucks. I'm just evaluating and organizing and then re-evaluating.

I want to shut myself up. Actually I've already done that. Shut myself up in the comfort of my living room and some mindless television and when the thoughts become too many to contain, I begin to write.

But it all seems very purposeless lately- the writing, the thinking, the going crazy.

I know these moments of wanting to be a social recluse are common and happen to most of us. But what I'm not prepared to handle is the situation when the moments reach a frequency that makes them a phase and the phase reaches  enough consistency to become a routine. A routine you badly want out of but can't seem to find a way out.



Sunday, April 15, 2012

Love Myths

I do love cheesy movies. I have cried in some really corny ones. But I WILL NOT allow them to ruin this generation of ours. So if you don't already know this, you're well, ridiculously unreal. If you know this and have been living in denial, I hope this is a slap on that denial's face. Just kidding, I'm bored and I think am funny. 
So laugh. Not that I'll know if you don't. Not that I'll care if I know you didn't. 

We don't live next to Jane Austen anymore. But as the language in Hollywood movies becomes more real, the notion of love seems to move backward. Of course, they sleep with people on first dates now-a-days, but they do that while believing in Prince Charming and an ugly white horse. So here's a list of things that don't happen in reality and the kind of frogs who'll only look uglier after you've kissed them:

  1. When you share a cab myth: Remember that scene when she stops a cab and as she sits inside it, a really hot guy opens the other door and sits inside. This is not a scene from a particular movie. It's there in so many, you're bound to remember it. Well, they fight and then exchange numbers and the rest as we'd like to believe is history. In reality, the person who tries to steal your cab is a middle-aged, pot bellied man with a mustache and a lecherous glance. He'll gladly exchange numbers, only if you wouldn't run out of the cab and vow to walk back home, if that would help never bumping into him again. Cab thieves are just that- cab thieves. 
  2. When you keep bumping into each other myth: You've seen it in the movies so you assume when you bump into a stranger for the second time, the universe is trying to tell you something. You gather a bunch of friends (girl friends, gay friends and not-out-of-the-closet-even-to-themselves gay friends) and tell them the story of  this co-incidence and you smile as they cheer you on and tell you it would make a great story. What really happens  is that you may bump into this person several times but never end up talking to him. Even better, you end up talking to him and realize he's married. Face it, the world's a small place. Everyone goes to new pubs/clubs/cafes that are the rage. Everyone goes to Goa. You're not the only person with plans. You're certainly not the only person he's bumped into several times. So smile politely but you'll get little more than a free drink out of him. 
  3. The jerk turns sappy myth: He's a jerk and so obviously you're in love with him. He's cheated on you, more so with your best friend. You've told him you're no door mat and he can't keep walking in and out of your life. So obviously, you're waiting with a baited breath for him to walk right back in, everytime he walks out on you. The wait is accompanied by repeat telecasts of your favourite shows, cheesecakes, wine and the eternal dream that when he's back this time, he'll prove the world wrong- he'll hold you and tell you he's sorry and he's woken up to how awesome you are. Sorry to break your little bubble there, but he's a jerk for a reason and he'll continue to be the same. People are wired a certain way and there's nothing you can do to change that. Do you stop crying over him? No right. Why then should he stop making you cry? Worse still, if he does watch the same movies as you and come back sappy, you'll hate him and run in the other direction. He won't be the guy (or the disgusting habit) you fell in love with.
  4. You'll go through the different people, only to end up with him myth: You broke up. So what? You'll find someone new. You found someone new? Oh yay, score! Things did not work out with someone new? Damn, you miss the old one again. Maybe, it was meant to be? Maybe he's thinking of you when he's kissing someone else too? Maybe, you'll go through all these different people only to realize you're 'made for each other'. Now that's a load of bull shit like no other. In the real world, you're actually just using people. The different people you're going through could be using you the same way. Not so romantic now, is it? More importantly, the different people may think you're meant to be with them, but they're not the ex'es you think you'll end up with. So you don't really end up where you started. You end up in a mesh of cross connected wires, guilt and a lot of drama. Nothing to write home about. Unless of course, you're me. 
  5. You were high school sweethearts turned college lovers turned spouses myth: In the real world, you're just so used to each other, you don't know what it would be without the other. It's like an investment you've made with every penny you have. It has the least amount of risk so you might as well stick with it. Someday when the markets are at an all time high, you'd want to invest somewhere else. You'll waver for that fleeting second and temptation will get the better of you. You're likely to cheat. But he'll take you back don't worry. Just remember, he's one up now and you'll have to take him back when he wavers too. Doesn't seem like such a love story now, does it? 
  6. Your best friend will eventually marry you myth: You've had a crush on him for years. He's the first boy you became friends with, the first boy you tried alcohol with, the first boy who taught you how to abuse. So what if he has a girlfriend? He'll eventually marry you. Umm..... if that really was the case, why exactly would he be with someone else? No, you dating someone else is not going to make him jealous. He'll only be happy for you and tease you. You vacationing in Bali is definitely not going to make him miss you and realize he's taken you for granted. He'll ask you to upload your pics on facebook so he can see Bali and plan his next vacation with his girlfriend. He sees you as a friend and unless you want to screw up a bond formed over many years, it's recommended you stick to being just that- the best friend he can share pizza with. 
  7. He's smart and well read and funny and witty and rich and cute. He makes you laugh and tells you, you look nice. He's gay. Remember the time he told you he loved your shoes? Or the time he warned you that your bag doesn't match your outfit? Or the time he went on about Jane Austen? What about the time he noticed your haircut and the colour of your eyeshadow? Yeah well, need I say more? 
The list shall continue. Write in your favourite bubble-breaking moments to pleasegetyourownblogit'sfree@i'llkillyouifyou'



I see you
Frowning in your head
Raising your eyebrow
and tightening your lips
Enough to make me cringe.

The life made over

My life needs a makeover.

Not a very original statement, you'd taunt me. Heck, that doesn't change the truth in it.

I don't mean a new fancy wardrobe (though am always open to donation of sexy shoes) or expensive lip gloss. I mean a lifestyle make over.

I'm supposed to tick many things off that checklist this year. That checklist in my head that I run through everyday- finalize on further study plans, lose weight, travel to Sikkim, publish my book etc.

But what my life needs is to operate in reverse gear for a while. Heck, forget reverse even standing still would help. I need lifestyle that involves no thought about the future. I need a lifestyle without planning.

I need a lifestyle with a lot more writing. I need a life of poetry.

So the moment, all these thoughts rushed to my head, I decided to act upon the urge to write them down. I also will keep just one thing on the checklist in mind- publish, beyond this push button publishing on

I'm 23 and tired of seeing the same dreams I did when I was 20. 3 years was enough time to get a grip and move on. Well, I promise to not make it 24.

Just one thought though- what after the life is made over? How long will I be thought free until I need a new makeover?

Can I be thought free at all?


Sunday, April 8, 2012

Longevity Measurement

It's been a while since I wrote something non-abstract. I really don't know why though and too lazy to delve into that. But yeah, this piece has been written in different persons. Not intentionally though. Just bad grammar.

There's something that's come back to haunt my nights and render them sleepless- a thought that I unabashedly play hide and seek with. Is it possible to relate to someone forever?

When the someone in consideration is love interest (or a potential one), I'm the first to point out that there's never a forever. Most people seem interesting in the beginning. Novelty can lead to curiosity and curiosity can be mistaken for attraction. Or maybe, novelty itself leads to attraction. But as we reach autumn, the trees don't seem to be so pretty after all. We're left with a familiarity that's a become habit and try to stick to the comfort zone, until the winter makes tolerance extremely difficult. Before, I'm labelled as cynical again, I will clarify that this is not the case with all romances- just a clinical analysis of why romance does not last forever, for all the times that it does not. But here's the thing- when the romance is over and you need to move on, you know that because the equation between the other person and yourself was so intense that you are going to need time off, that it's okay to not be 'friends' anymore and that familiar places, sounds, people will bring memories back. You move on for what's best for both and then you move on for yourself. You don't expect to continue to be a part of each others' life necessarily.

But what do you do when it's friendship that has lost it's elasticity? More often than not, we have a variety of friends and each one shares a special equation with us. What do you do when you stop relating to one or some of them? There's no fixed rule for a break up here. Besides, you may not even want to break up. It's just that there is awkwardness and a loss of conversation. The greatest friendship is that which comes out of companionable silence. But awkward silence is a different ball game altogether. Initially, it can be dealt with by going down the memory lane and laughing at the old jokes. How long can that go on for, though? The jokes become stale and un-funny and the memories become but a hurtful reminder of the closeness and comfort that was once shared. The worst part is that you can't relate to each other as people.

It's a tricky area, this. It's not a fight so there can be no definite end but status quo is just pinching. So I guess you just talk about the weather and laugh awkwardly knowing fully well that the other person is putting  up the same act as you. Not to forget hating having to put it up, maybe just as much as you do.


Someday, mad enough

With a little bit of courage
And an innocence sublime,
We can make it here, someday
We can dream all the time.

The hope we killed, ourselves.
The sleepless nights
The mind that worries itself silly,
Burning the midnight oil.

A generation spoilt for choice
Hunting madness, madness divine.
The anxious mind, the nervous heart,
Biting nails, afraid to start.

Someday, soon enough,
Someday, mad enough,
One day, someday won't matter
The question is- are you mad enough?


Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Diary entries I discovered #2

Little lies of yesterday,
A white sheet,
Plain, bare.
Purity in the thoughts on spree
A life lost in being free

Come with me and share my lies,
Ill pinch you just a little bit,
You'll scream, just right.

Diagonal Dreams
Backed by a sorry promise
Come with me
And see the storm
Ill help you lose yourself
In shadows long.

A dance on fire
Truth's eternal satire
Come with me
Into a space hollow
Ill push you deep inside
But never follow.

My own life
I always thought
Had so little to say
But when the lights are off
And the mind restless,
Sleep evades me till the day.


I shut my eyes
Really tight
To squeeze out
That last tear
For you.
Turns out that now,
I cry with my eyes wide open.

Remember the time
I smiled with a straight face?
Your eyes looked at me
With a question,
which you then forgot.

Friday, March 9, 2012


Sometimes, post a conversation, just one, you begin to see it all.

And then you look back at yourself and the memories seem to lack depth. And the dreams? Well they just seem foolish.

It's in one of these moments, that you learn to prioritize. And re-dream.

You don't like your new dream. But you've got no choice.

So you live with it- the new dream and the faded patterns of all the old ones.


Thursday, March 8, 2012


They twirled around in a straight line
Gathering moss, losing their mind.
Beads of sweat on a lonely conscience
A nervous laugh
And an empty shrine.

The lovers who lied
The clowns who cried
The mountain top devoid of a song
Half forgotten lyrics,
Worth more than a dime?

An imagination coy,
An epiphany, too many?
Give them wings
They'll make you fly
Far enough, but away?

The lovers lied
The clowns cried
The dark sunlight
Half remembered lyrics
The ego blind.

Remember the time?
The timeless? Not really.
Straight lines
Tangential memories
The joy of missing the point, completely.

They were no lovers
Just liars, guilt free
But the clowns?
Oh they cried,
So hard, you could see them laugh.
Laugh, all along.


Tuesday, February 7, 2012


Haphazardly, one day,
We'll learn to cope 
With the crazy frenzy 
That's become us
That's always been me. 

We'll chase each other
In concentric circles
And find peace
Pausing only
To breathe. 

Vaguely in poetry
We'll hold each other tight
And blow the whistle 
On all the nightmares
We tried for long
To push aside. 

Friday, January 13, 2012

Untitled 4

Do you know her so well,
to tear her apart
and devour her pieces?

Do you tell her you love her
to break her heart
and see her so needy?

Do lie beside her
to hear her cry
as you pretend to sleep?


At least we wrote a poem

We never did fit that frame perfect,
We never did laugh together, alike
We couldn't even see eye to eye

But as we cursed and swore
And bled dry,
We wrote a poem
You and I 


Tuesday, January 10, 2012

A little Crush

After what seems like ages,
I blushed
And as I lowered my eyes,
I could sense myself go flippity floppity 
Flip Flop 

Because through the silly giggle,
And the loud loud laughter,
I know you're jokes aren't funny
But this is such a happy bubble 


Thursday, January 5, 2012


An itch above my eyebrow
Your cold cold glare
No sunshine through the window
A childhood nightmare.


Monday, January 2, 2012


A life we love and how
The love we hate and how
Lack of balance,
Mind numbing patience 
We wait, we wait
And our hearts sink oh-so-low

In a green green field 
From our deepest dream,
We break into a song
A solitary rhyme on a mountain top
Simplified to the last drop. 

But the mind's a rueful mess just now
And the dreams are grey and black
A tired sigh that's oh-so-loud
Too fatigued even to pray. 

Come fill me in with love alike
And the starlit sky from your sleep
Just sit beside me in the rain
The cliche lullaby, we'll sing. 


The one thing 2011 told me

.. was to never say never.

It was so easy when I told people that we are not what we want to be but what we do. Even if we do something 'unlike' us, the truth is we've done it and so it's like us isn't it?
But when you see this actually transcend into reality and the kind of reality that hits you in the face, it takes a lot of courage to try and turn the odds back in your favour.

This hasn't been an easy year. Mostly because unlike 2010, which was a year where I did things, this was year were things just happened. For someone as controlling as me, to let go and be free flowing is a herculean task. But to just have so much happen by itself is numbing in a way. It's like you're still recovering from one thing and something else happens. That sums up my 2011 actually.

So sometimes, I wonder what I really learnt from 2011. I know it's made me stronger. But heck, doesn't age just do that to you anyway?

Here's to a simpler 2012. One that's uncomplicated. One that's not a whirlpool of love, hatred, anger and joy mixed up in a strange fashion. One that solves 2011 and one that let's me sleep peacefully.


Sunday, January 1, 2012


Scars gathered along
In the painful memory of time,
Dusty remains and the aching truth
Was all that was left behind.


Friday, December 9, 2011


In a loud laugh 
She sang a little song
For someone far away


Tuesday, December 6, 2011

This is an Uncensored, Offensive and Malignant post

Talking about politics makes me angry. It makes my blood boil and I really think I need anger-management classes. But I've never chosen to get political on my blog because I've always wondered 'so what?'. So what in the sense that, I'll get angry, abuse the ridicule that this democracy has become, vent it out in one long essay/open letter that twenty people will read and then WHAT?

I like to keep the anger within myself. I pamper it, obsess over and let it grow so that I never forget that I got to do something. I let the anger and disgust give birth to a sense of duty towards my country. It's this anger that makes me cringe from indulging in bribery and throwing trash on the road. I let the anger harness guilt inside me, so every time I do something that may cause trouble to someone else, I feel guilty about doing the same things that make me angry.

But you know what, today, all that's seething inside me needs to let itself out. Not because I don't need the anger, but because today I want to offend. I know I'm safe considering how popular my blog really is (not). But I hope this post bloody well reaches those nincompoops making a mockery of the nation and they get offended, oh so bloody offended.

I'll tell you what- the only reason you're in power is because the (now) opposition never really had any agenda of their own. It's perfectly clear that a bunch of people who can use the 26/11 attacks to circulate anti-Congress messages, are not even worth contempt. Oh you like this don't you, Sibal? Am I not hurting any religious/national/ridiculous/unreasonable sentiments now? Of course not, because I have not used the word Gandhi yet. I'm going to refrain from commenting on the opposition, though. I'm going to say this you- The GOI   comprises of a bunch of dumb***** whose point of view on anything is narrow-minded, ridiculous and downright idiotic. Do you, Soniaji's puppets realize you're good for absolutely nothing?

A woman can't get out of her house alone post 7PM in Delhi without pepper spray and the fear of getting raped; Cabinet reshuffles and interest rate hikes have become seasonal activities; Farmers' suicides and unresolved crime scenes have become  the thing for non-fiction narratives; Eunuchs' only sources of income remain prostitution and blackmailing and the lesser said about terrorism, the better. What the hell do you expect an average citizen to do? Hang your Soniaji's picture in his living room and worship it? A few days after India has recorded a shameful GDP growth of 6.9%, what's really being discussed is censoring social media! Oh sorry, not censorship just a 'check on the content'. Check on the content, my ass. What we really need is bloody mental health check up because seriously, such volumes of bullshit cannot be produced without the presence some serious illness/ psychological disorder.

I'm quite a consumer of social media in my everday life and I haven't seen so much 'offensive' content be churned out as has been done since you decided to 'not to go the press about "checking content" so as to not hurt any sentiment'. As a matter of fact, I refrain from using abusive language on my blog, but you know when i really learnt how to abuse? It all started with me following the Indian Political Scenario. Infact I surprise myself every day when I read about your latest decision (or lack there of) and utter an abuse I did not even realize I knew of.

Oh but it's pretty easy for you guys, isn't it. Get one minister to take his shot at talking crap and then withdraw from the statement and don't back it up as the govt/Congress. Manmohan Singh will hold a press conference where he will 'condemn' what happened or tell us that 'the decision is on hold until the parliament reaches a consensus'. And then get (not so) blue-eyed Rahul Gandhi to go on tours across the country, joining his hands promising the people that he 'will take the issue up'.

So screw you and screw your bloody censorship.
I take it upon myself to offend you and hurt this national sentiment that you speak of with such callousness.

You know what the national sentiment really is? It's anger and it's disgust.

But you wouldn't know that because you're all too busy licking some Italian ass.


Monday, November 21, 2011

Diary Entries I discovered

Hanging in the air,
Clogging every cloud of thought
Lies a conversation incomplete
Eyes set ablaze with wrath
Look closer, its just love discreet
A fine smile and civil nods
Come closer and feel my beat
Its too cold where I stand
Its too pale for me

I spy
On you tearing up
Every sheet of faith
I ever had
One honest word at a time

I spy
On me crying
Into the pillow,
One memory at a time

Let me tell you a secret you already know
You and me
We're not meant to be

Let me tell you a secret you must never know
I wanted to go that extra mile
I just wanted to see you smile.

A broken teapot
Smiling from its ruins
Black tea across the marble floor
And a shadow hiding

Live a little today, they tell us
Let's live our whole lives today indeed
We'll remove the stains tomorrow
And gather the ruins, maybe.

Through all the ugly curses,
Through all the second glances,
I forgot to let you know
Just how happy you make me

Let's live our whole lives in just today
Today, when its just you and me.

Crinkly white sheets
Crisp cotton and us underneath
While you slept, your eyes shut
I dreamt the whole time
My eyes wide open,
Staring at you

Our bodies lay so close
But my mind was far away
In a time long ago
When I still made you laugh

And slowly as I kissed your eyes,
I knew this was ending
This- that had never begun at all.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

The rat can't opt out of the race

Disclaimer: This post has been lying in the drafts section for over 2 months. Completed, edited (not really) and published only today. Yes, Yes, Lazy was coming. 

When I was young, oh wait am still that (would it be ridiculously disney of me if did the *facepalm*?), so let's start over. When I was a child, I remember sitting in my living room in Madras and telling my mother and a friend that I wanted to be 'businesswoman' because I loved the idea of wearing a red business suit (yes, the one with a red blazer and a red skirt) and 6-inch high pumps and walking around an 'office' with 'filework'. I was in class 4  and Kingfisher Airlines hadn't launched then. Years later of course, the Mallya stole my idea and converted it into some sort of an affordable male fantasy for them 'kings of good times'.

Shortly after that statement, I realized that 'office' actually implied hierarchy and 'filework' did not mean simply signing sheets of paper and acting important. I dropped the dream and returned to my original dream about wanting to be the President of the country ( I was not aware of the helplessness of the post then) and/or an air-hostess and/or Miss Universe. I grew up stout, rather short and couldn't win the war against acne. So as awesome as my personality was, it required more than communication skills to be crowned with diamonds and wave the hands like a princess. So the beauty pageants part was out. I also realized you can't just wake one morning and decide  to preside over the country. So presidency was out and how.

What did smart, opinionated, sort-of-creative drama queens like myself do in life? I decided I want to be a journalist. Believe me, noone at that point of time chose to highlight the fact that news reporting really was not  about voicing one's opinion on a corporate-funded national platform. I thought the un-pretty people, you know the unconventional ones like myself wore a lot kohl, Fab India and were destined to change the world and of course, in the process garner their own fan following. The world was one giant stage where my character would draw a lot of applause and admiration. I observed carefully and found out that I needed to wear more khadi, put even more kohl and use words/phrases like 'inequality' , 'gender-bias' , 'death of democracy', 'left leaning' , I would be labelled intellectual and my ideas, radical. I don't mean the people who did this were un-pretty. I just mean, that un-pretty ones could be safe with this.

If you're still reading, it is safe to assume that you have judged me beyond measure, not only for my hopeless dreams and understanding of the world, but for choosing the wrong title to the post. Why would I tell you the rat can't opt out of the race and then elaborate in painful detail, my dreams and ambitions and uselessness? I don't know, actually. I don't know why I began this post in the first place. Maybe because I forgot what I was writing about mid-way. But this title, does sound catchy no? If I had called this "My list of dreams" or some jazz like that, you would have never even bothered to open it. So the initial idea of the post had a lot to do with this title, but now it doesn't. I'm mental like that.

So anyway, getting back. The journalistic dreams soon fizzled out as I learnt what it really meant and I decided to sell my soul, succumb to the world's ways and join the world of advertising/marketing. Like I'd said to someone, sometime back, now that I've sold my soul, I feel rather liberated because there really is nothing I can be uptight about and/or decide to judge anymore. I sell magazines, really. Before that, I sold newspapers. I'm a part of the typical rat race now. For all my childhood yearning to choose an alternate profession or do something different, something I feel passionate about as opposed to just minting money, I've ended up following the herd mentality now haven't I? I want to do the M.B.A. route (I'm going to pretend I don't hear your snide remarks or see your eyebrows flinch and your lips curve into a smirk). The point still remains, it's a race and it's not easy.

But you know the funny thing is, I don't feel all "I am wasting my life away". Yes, I'd love to travel a lot more than I already do. Actually, I'd like to discover a lot more of the country all by myself and this lifestyle doesn't really permit those vagabond ways. But it's a simple balance really. The vagabond shoes need to be those yummy ones that tempt you for really long until you get to wear them. If I wore the vagabond shoes like a pair of chappals, they would be reduced to just that- everyday chappals.

To opt out of a race, you only land yourself in another. In wanting to be different, we participate in the biggest cliche of all. To think out of the box, you land yourself in another box. It's only logical. In this constant struggle against definition, we actually end ourselves up in the biggest pattern of them all.

What's the solution? I don't know. I usually just go to sleep.


Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Whatte line moments

  1. "Life be the funny. Work be the honey. Still no money" - in response to 'how's life'
  2. I talk in riddles. 
  3. Brain Curry has happened. You have rice to eat it with? 
  4. Matters of the heart have a mind of their own. 
  5. Sleep's the only thing that's worth anything. 
Yes, yes, I be cool like that ;)

Monday, October 31, 2011


That's been my state of mind for a while now. It's dazed and it's spaced out like a space cadet. It's just blum. So this is not a rant about why life sucks,this post is just a silly excuse to justify my rather unjustified silence here. For the few people who read this and have asked me about what has happened with the blog- well, it's up and it's running. I'm supposed to put up a very important book review here. I have 3 more posts in drafts that need to be completed and 'push-button-published'.

The ultimate truth is I'm incredibly lazy. The peripheral truth is I've been ill. No serious illness of course but just that annoying kinds that wants to remind me about the need for a lifestyle change.

I don't like to write it out anymore. It's that phase when the excel sheets have taken over my brain. But the thing is the blog itself looks so dull and morbid. It's a reflection of that closeted emo side. No fun, I say.

In other news, let me explain "blum".

Blum is a state of mind that affects more than just the space in your mind. It's usually caused after a period of immense thinking, deep thinking, over analyzing, self-caused-exhaustion and emotional draining. The process of being blum implies laziness, spaced-out-ness, lack of any pro-activity whatsoever, happy-sad laughter and a rather disrespectful indifference to life and what comes with it.

Blum is a state of being null.

I don't know if it's enjoyable. I'm too blum to know if am enjoying it. But i'll tell you this- it makes you produce a lot of nonsense.


Monday, October 24, 2011


I learnt to love your lies
And I loved to live with it
Then I saw you mock me


Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Debris of dreams

We hope for a better life,
You and I
It's a silent prayer for the future
This, life- yours and mine.

We chase our dreams
And weave new ones
Because it's too boring to stick to the old ones
In chasing and dreaming and living lies,
Confrontation makes us shy.

Slowly, the pinpricks of the past will fade away
Slowly, the childhood dreams will set us free
Until that happens, we continue to cry,
You and I
Over the debris of dreams that we see.

We need a steady hand to hold,
A thousand promises to unfold
We make excuses to ourselves,
You and I
Because in cowardice we find bliss

Lost and found
Black and brown
Whispers and prayers
We're thieves,
You and I
We stole our souls
Stealthily, Craftily.

And for as long as we can tolerate the stink,
In this wreckage, we'll just continue to be.


Monday, September 12, 2011

The rather loud mime

So many secrets lost in time,
Burdened with an eagerness to please
Shallow rivers and stony skies
Walk with me at perfect ease.

I'd never call a spade a spade
Because I'd rather it's a tree.
Withered, shy and dark
Hollow, so to speak?

I'd love to cry for you someday,
The day, you'll let me be.
You'd let me go,
a long time ago
But you'd never just let me be.

Recklessness can't be the truth,
It's honesty in such bad taste.
But don't sugarcoat for me,
Your mockery is a perfect waste.

I've won that game
And lost it too.
I know them tricks,
Old and new.

So gather all your secrets
From different zones of time
Give me them on a platter,
So I can pick on each one at a time.


Saturday, September 10, 2011

In other news

It's time for the nonsensical update post. Yes I know, it's the kind of stuff I really want to write about because I think the society at large, feeds off updates on my life. It is also the kind of post you'll barely even want to acknowledge (unless of course, I tell you I've broken a limb or two) because you'd rather I write about this stuff in my personal journal as opposed to a public platform like this one, that claims to bring out the 'writer' in me.

But, anyway, in other news ( *wink *) :

  1. I did actually compile all the poetry I'd written through the years. When I went through it, I was slightly taken aback. I did think I was a better writer. I guess that's what happens when you compile stuff you've written over the years- some of it becomes irrelevant, even to yourself. The parcel was sent to the publisher and the courier service decided to never deliver the consignment. It's not even returned to the origin yet. Is this some sort of a sign? A quick note to whoever is up there controlling the humans- It's taken a lot of courage to come out of the closet about my writing attempts, the task of actually sending stuff to publishers being almost herculean in nature, don't mess this up please. And if you believe in giving signs, give clearer ones. (Would I demean myself if I indulge in quick smileys to support my plea here? yes, I am a blackberry girl. :-/) 
  2. I desperately need to discover some new fun shows to watch. I miss the HIMYM madness and I can't keep going back to FRIENDS all the time. Sometimes, they'd point at me and laugh- them people on the show. It is after all not perfectly normal to just never grow out of a show. 
  3. I've won myself an autographed "JS & The Times of my life". Yes, it has been signed by Jug Suraiya himself. How? Well I signed-up for at blogadda and offered to review the book. So the review is going to be up in 7 days and no, I do not have to write nice things about the book, if I don't like it. So, it's a win-win situation, as people in my corporate side of the world would say. 
  4. Am working on a post called "Things parents say". If you have any expert comments/additions/suggestions for the same, do write to me. I always give the credit where it's due and I think a post like this one should contain inputs from well, having experienced more than one set of parents.
  5. I love the new blogger interface. Its simple and customized to maximum clarity. Quite unlike a certain part of my life right now. 
Until we meet again, then? 

Note to self: The style of writing is becoming increasingly chic-lit. The slang words that were once frowned upon by my pompous self are now a rather homogeneous part of this supposedly-new writing format. Maybe, I should give up on the dream of writing a though-provoking novel after all. I can only do Headaches, Heartaches and Haircuts kind of stuff (yes, that is one book idea). 
Ah well, at least I still spell it as 'colour' and not 'color'. Until I reach that stage, I guess am still safe.