Monday, 25 November 2013

I dove deep down yesterday, under a pile of books
Looking for a poet who had been lost since days
I found her hidden in a corner, behind a page
Chewing on a word- ‘lonely’
She had tears in her eyes
She too had been searching for me.

I sat with her for a while, on the edges of her book
Our backs resting on the walls of a poem she had written
I was with her, listening to her tales of sadness
Of words that had left her
Of feelings that no longer inspired poetry
Of the ache she didn’t want to write about
After a while, she sang to me old poems
Those that were written
during a happier time.

When I was leaving, I picked my poet up
Thought I’d keep her in the front pocket of my shirt
Right in front of where my heart was
But her home was in those pages, her soul in
those words
So I settled her on a nice cozy bed
of a brand new page
Promising her happy dreams
And a dose of hope, to help her write again.


Monday, 18 November 2013

I know ‘right before the exams’ is a crazy time for me
Sometimes beautiful and sometimes incredibly difficult
Sometimes all about poetry that flows through my blood in those days
Sometimes the hollowness of my room, sometimes of my thoughts
Sometimes the emptiness in my heart, and sometimes how full I feel
because I took more time than usual in finishing a meal
that would otherwise be over in less than 10 minutes; the slowness comes
in the avoidance of books that I love but hate because I have to glance
through them fast and I can’t taste them slowly and swallow them with
joy; the way I enjoyed my food today.

So I glance at them and look away, at the choices I have made
Of distant poets and story tellers and lovers of words whom I love
and I stare at their lives so deeply with tears in my eyes wondering
if they ever feel the way I feel sometimes; and if I will ever feel the way
they do; and if ever somebody else will wish to feel the way I feel
today
And whether the hunger in my soul and the thirst in my heart
will ever be quenched by my fulfilling the promises I keep making to
myself every now and then.

The book continues to stare at me and I continue to smile at the computer screen
telling myself that there are more important things
and that this time here, my laptop and the candle right next to it,
and the fire it holds, is much more important than learning I will forget
the day my exam gets over; though I hope I don’t.


Friday, 15 November 2013

The Boy Who Creates Music

Right across my room lives the boy who
creates music; dham dham badampam dham dham
giving me wanted and unwanted sounds all day
dham dham dham dham; and inside the room I can see him
his specs staring hard at the screen, his face wearing a
smile; dham dham dhadam dham bam
“Would you like to listen to my new piece?” he says
“Nahhhh, I haven’t got the time”; dham dham
“aacha chal jaldi se suna”
He’s the guy who gives background music to
my life.

But this boy who creates music doesn’t really know
that he creates so much more.

he creates joy for those struck with sadness
and laughter for those who have been serious too long
he creates sparkles in eyes
he makes complete opposites stick along
he creates food everybody loves
and the best chocolate coffee I have ever known
he is everything that is right with me
and everything that is wrong, corrected, and then rolled
into one.

He is crazy plus innocent
like a recipe made of chocolates and music,
psychology and sudoko, chicken shawarma and momos
a pinch of french fries and chhole bhature
and of every random tasty street food
the streets of Lajpat Nagar can produce.

The boy who creates music
gives rhythm to my heartbeats
and a base to my life
a tempo to the speed of work
and a sound to
make everything alright. 



Happy birthday, Sid. You are loved :*

Tuesday, 29 October 2013

Winters

Like saying ‘hello’ when meeting a treasured friend
Like hugging the warmth of the sunshine
Like warm feelings that had been tucked away under warm clothes
kept in care for colder times

Like reasons to let people come closer
Like excuses to hold them tighter
Like a short day that begs to be lived to the fullest
Like a star-filled night that refuses to get over

You come back to me like an old lover

You whisper in my ears long forgotten songs
You play with my hair
You tickle my heart with your gentle breath
You fill my mind with your scent.

You come to me like an old lover
who will one day say goodbye again.

Monday, 28 October 2013

There are promises that you make to yourself
that will change the way you live your life; and sometimes
you will be able to see as you make them; other times
it’ll be years before you knew you were following a mantra
a motto, or something; and when you look back
it’ll shine through everything you have ever done
and you’ll love it or hate it; but years later, you won’t be able to
do anything about it.

I have made some promises too.

Like the promise I’ve made to never regret the evening I spent
swept in the arms of something I love; like reading poetry
Or listening and singing along to songs in the happiest voice,
Like the day when I chose to ignore a pending assignment
so that I could go and listen to two old men, both poets
as they recited words weaved in magic, casting a spell on me
And the wonder I felt when I saw them grow young
in the span of an hour or so.

And I will never look back with contempt or anger
at the things and people that once made me happy, so happy
that the world seemed brighter when I sat next to them;
and time got wings as I saw it fly by me; and every 'goodbye'
seemed too hard, and every 'hello' so warm..
Because it doesn’t matter if they made me cry, they also gave me
the time of my life; and I promise to be grateful
for each laugh, each smile.

To never regret the time I spent, making people laugh
making them happy, with jokes and stories; truth or fiction
but giving them a time they cherish; time spent with children
listening to their stories of toys and school; of puppies as they
wag their tails, smiling with their eyes and loving oh so completely,
like games played with my mother, or evenings spent with friends
times that needn't be recorded in diaries, and feelings that are hard
to put into words.

And I will never let anyone tell me, to look at my world
with anything but pretty heart-shaped rose-tinted glasses
Because the truth is, we’re all going to wear lenses anyway
so I’ll look at my world with hope and love and its beauty
and people for all the magnificent charm and joys they hold
each person with his own ways of giving out happiness
each person with her own way of showing that she matters.

I made promises to myself the other day
promises I should have made a long time back
promises I intend to keep for a long time to come.

Thursday, 24 October 2013

I feel cheated on, today
Because there is someone else out there who is
Living my life—wearing the shoes I would have picked
had I gotten to the store first; and in clothes
that actually belong to me; telling stories
that are hidden in the corners of my heart
And I don’t know how she knows, but she knows
And she flies, while I float around today,
holding on to temporary anchors as I search for wings.

Because there are no words for the things I feel
And reasons for what I feel, but I feel, so much
About so many things—like when I cross the road
And stare at faces that say to me- “you know,
I have an interesting story to tell”; and when I see
mothers holding daughters as they cross roads
and on the other end, daughters holding their mothers
who are children again, once their job is done
And how I laugh and smile and cry
Because I can see the circle of life; but there is no one word
Or even many, that can ever describe the warmth I feel
That sometimes burns the inside.

Because I can see time slipping through my fingers
and life passing by my eyes; while I’m consumed
in work that makes no difference to me, but have to do anyway
and the panic attack I feel, when I see the date
because it’s already October and my friend told me,
that the year ends in 74 days, and because I have no clue
where the rest of the weeks and months went away
And though I know I have changed a lot, as time added
something new to my eyes; I just wish there was some more time
so that I could stop and just feel the change as it occurs.

Because I cheat myself when I don’t say the things I feel
Like the words that sleep dreamy-eyed on the tip of my tongue
waiting for the day they’ll finally come out; and the fine line
between who I am and what I wish to be, and the game
I play as I cross over from here to there every once in a while
And because ‘love’ isn’t such a big word anymore, but ‘feelings’ is
And because you could hold hands and hug people all day
But that in no way means that they understand, or you do
And because we walk but don’t know where to go.

I feel cheated on today.


Saturday, 5 October 2013

Cheers to the being who does not keep
A hidden box at the top of the closet
Or in some corner of the heart
Or in its mind
Where it is covered
By the cobwebs of memory

A box that contains bits and pieces of paper
Words and dialogues
Quotes and lyrics
Photographs of smiles
And pictures of views
Letters that haven’t been opened in years
And phone numbers that will never be used
Pens whose souls left them
When their inks ran dry
And papers who knew they had died
When dust came to reside on them
Where once fingers touched,
And tears smiled.

A box
The box
The most dreaded box
The most loved one
The one there
But not really.

Cheers to the being
Who can let it go
Who can but throw
Away the things
That matter no more.

And I will come
looking for you
soon
but I have a box
as of now
to look after.

Sunday, 22 September 2013

Have you ever felt so happy in a moment
Maybe after a phone call that lasted not more than 600 seconds
But made you smile all day after that
Because every once in a while, people say the sweetest things
And the euphoria in that minute makes you feel
That no riches in the world
Could make you even half as happy as you feel today

Have you ever felt so complete for a second
That you thought that life is most perfect in the now
And that joy came from nothing but a rooftop
That showed the wide sky to you
With clouds that looked like cotton candy
In the company of people you love too much
And the sounds of songs that sound much better in their voices
Than they ever did on tv

Have you ever felt the warmth of a person
When they hug you in a hurry
and you know that both of you don’t want to leave
so you just stay there, holding each other
and smiling in each other’s ears
wondering that throughout the years
you had waited for this time to come
and that if the wait was so long
is it fair that the moment passes by so soon

have you ever created something so magical
like a poem or a painting or a story
a character, a letter or a joke
that it felt like your own baby to you
that pride you feel when you show it around to people
and say- “you see this beauty?
I created it.”

because lately I find myself concentrating really hard
at my feet
wishing that they could grow roots
that stem out and tie me to this ground
this here, this now
and all my life, I've waited for wings
but in this moment, I guess, I can do without.

Monday, 9 September 2013

She was walking on a way So confident and bold She loved it so crazy She could have walked till she grew old She walked a little longer She walked a little more Before she asked herself What does she really want?
It was a straight path, really And she could have walked and walked But how would she then discover The joys of being lost?
Two roads diverged in the woods Seems too old now And it isn’t about the path I want to choose Its about the million roads that lie ahead of me Each more wonderful than the next Each that terrifies me more And the silent scream In my heart Because I don’t want to chose Just one Or any At all.

Thursday, 22 August 2013

I was scared
Once
A long time back
Or so it seems
Of being hurt,
Scared so bad
That I couldn’t let anyone
Come close to me.

Then you came along
And I feel warmth
And strength
And faith
And hope
Somehow
I’m scared no more.

But
Now I have
New things to be scared of
And today
I feel most scared
Of myself
Because
When you stand by me
All weak and soft
Telling me things you tell no one
And believing in me
Not to hurt you
The way I look at you
I’m terrified
Of the me
That’ll want to pinch you
Slowly
And deep
Into the part of your heart
That needs most
To feel loved.
I love a lot of poems
And stories
And people
And things
That break my heart
I love them despite it
and
Sometimes, I guess, I love them for it.

Sunday, 11 August 2013

Thinking of all the things I think will make me happy
But what if one day
By a swift move of some fairy godmother’s wand
Or some blessing
Or by sheer hard work
I do get all of it
And what if it doesn’t make me as happy
As I thought it would?

What if all the people and places and pictures
Can’t destroy the fire burning my soul
And what if all the music and dancing
Doesn’t tire me at all
And what if I keep looking for
A place called home?

What if I tell myself
That the true days of joy are somewhere ahead
And for now not laugh a lot
And what if in reality
Maybe the time to be happy
Is now?


Wednesday, 24 July 2013

Man of a Few Words

I told him he was
a man
of a few words
he said
"Yup, I know."
Hold on to things that give you meaning
The rest don’t belong in your home
Your heart, your mind, your life
Hold on to things that make you learn
Make you grow, make you yearn
The rest don’t belong.
Hold on to things that make your life
Not the ones that ruin it
Or make it sad
Hold on tight
And tighter
To things
And people
That will make you smile
When you think
About them
10 years from now
The rest
Just don’t matter.

Tuesday, 25 June 2013

I wonder what happens when
The light hugs the darkness
And the smile kisses the tears
Who melts into whom?
Does the darkness grow lighter
Does the light become dark?
Does the smile turn away the tears?
Or do the tears leave a mark?

And what happens when a person is in love
And the other is not quite so
Who decides whether it’ll reach an end?
Or it’ll be love forever for both?

I don’t see how these things mix
When opposites come to interact
From different ends of the city
And from far away points in the mind
To bring to each other
What the other has never seen
And become for each other
What they have otherwise never been.



Tuesday, 18 June 2013

Painting

I have the perfect painting in my hand
With all the right strokes, from all the correct angles
The figures are beautifully made
And the shades are just right
The paints mix in the ideal way
And it’s neither too dark nor too bright,
I love it when I look at it
I miss it when I look away,
My perfect painting

Then you come along
You show me how one stroke is wrong
And how I missed an angle by 5 degrees
That figure has a hand too big, and that nose doesn't look too real
How a pink would have been better than red there
And how it’s a little lighter than it should be
And I know you are right
It is not perfect
But I would have loved you more
If you would have just let it be.

Saturday, 8 June 2013

The worst taste in the world
is not of curry with too much salt
Or of coffee with no sugar
Not of a chocolate
when you eat it
an year after it’s expiry
Or of your chicken when it is undercooked
The worst taste isn’t of a bitter vegetable
that was churned and churned
to get a bright green juice
to heal your upset stomach

The worst taste is
of anger
as you swallow it deep down
Where it stays
longer than
you want it to
And of its little pieces
that stay in your mouth
with a taste that lingers
just to torture you.
Sitting on a bean bag
placed on my balcony
With the sound of my favorite music
playing in the background
And my annoying little brother
trying to correct every single word I write.
But still I write.

Because from where I’m looking
the building right in front of me
is as tall as my hand
And the person
walking on the road
is not even one finger tall

So I sit
and measure everything
from where I’m seated
The trees, the cars
And I try to look at tiny little smiles
But people are just too damn far

And I think of other places
where I can see the world
through such different eyes
Wondering
why I don’t go there
more often.


Thursday, 6 June 2013

I want to write a poem on wet mud
Not flowers, or love, or how I feel
But just on plain wet mud

Because to my eyes it reminds
Of the delicious color
Of my favorite chocolate

And to my nose, the favoritist smell in the world
A scent that gives
Such immense, such intense joy

To my mind it brings back memories
Of rainy days
And of those childhood times well spent
Wrapped in mud
Dancing and laughing

It reminds me of the earth
Where everything comes from
And will go one day

Wet mud
Because when I take it in my hand
It can become anything I want
A snake, a pot, a clown
Wet mud
And how it gives life
To all the beautiful trees I love

And I realize
That I have stared at the sky too often
And too long
looking at the stars
And thinking of places where I don’t belong
And now
I stare at this mud
And I know it’s there
I can touch it, feel it, smell it, see it
And as I touch and smell and see
I somehow become
Closer to me.
I hold a record for falling in love
With people
Whom I’ve never looked in the eye
And being so far away from them
That we never even shared
The same air

And because I never knew them as people
I dug as much as I could from afar
For more things about them
That I could love with all my heart
But more often than not
I just fell for a piece of them
Just one single part

Like the guy I loved because I loved his voice
And the jingle in his laugh
The way all words sounded
So much more beautiful
As they came out of his lips
And so it didn’t matter to me what he said
Because I was already in a daze

I loved another two or three
For the thoughts they had
The way their words would rhyme as they spoke
Like every sentence shared its heart with the other
And like words got a whole new meaning
And I was but a student
Trying to learn their magical art

I hold a record for falling in love
With people
So deeply and with all my heart
But loving none except a single part
A soothing voice, a magical soul
But never a person, never a whole
I just know how to love just one part
Maybe that is why I know of love
Only from afar.

Sunday, 19 May 2013

Tied to so many people
so tightly
without really knowing
the quality of the rope.
Things I Need to Tell Myself

It is okay to be alone
and it’s okay if you can’t love everybody
It is absolutely okay if you feel sad
or angry
and it is alright if sometimes
life seems unfair.

It is okay to feel lonely
when you sit by yourself
and wish there was someone by your side
and there is nothing wrong if you can’t do
every damn thing you decide.

It is okay to be stupid sometimes
and make a really bad joke
it is okay if you can’t say every little thing
with a voice that isn’t broke.

It is okay if your shoulders slump
on a day you feel too low
and don’t worry so much about tiny
or big things
or if sometimes you don’t like the flow.

It is okay because you’re still awesome
and you will eventually get up and shine
but it is also okay to let go of things
and just rest for a little while.

Monday, 13 May 2013

I have felt anger in its cruelest form
and sometimes its way more right
than wrong.

Tuesday, 7 May 2013


If I needed to be saved
I would have cried for help.

If I needed to be loved
I wouldn't have let you go.

If I needed to feel complete
I’d never draw half a picture.

If I needed for you to hear my voice
I would have sung my song.

If I needed for you to fall in love
with me
Maybe you would have.

But I don’t,
I don’t,
I just don’t want to.

Sunday, 5 May 2013


I Love 4 o Clock in the Morning

I love 4 o clock in the morning
when I can sit in the dark
and write on a piece of paper
with a pen I can hold but not see
and scribble words
without thinking too much.

I love 4 o clock in the morning
when it is so quiet and empty
that it's possible to smell the ink of my pen
and hear the sound of my handwriting
and see the outline of the paper
through my fingers.

I love 4 o clock in the morning
when a thought that had been
sitting in a corner all day
can finally come to light
in the dark.

I love 4 o clock in the morning
it’s the most beautiful hour
when you talk only to people
who matter
and when you think of things
that are most important to you.

I love 4 o clock in the morning
because though technically you’ll say
that it’s morning
and a new day is beginning
For me, it's just the calm peaceful end
to a day full of chaos.

I just love 4 o clock in the morning.



P.s- as a rule, anybody who writes should ALWAYS keep a pen and paper by the bedside. 
:)


Friday, 3 May 2013

An Ode to a Balloon



I wonder how it must feel
to be so colorful and bright
And yet still be
so empty inside.

You laugh as you pass
jumping through the air
from one hand to the other
and yet not belonging anywhere.

And even at night
as you stand by the corner
I can still sit
and look at you
as you dance
to the music of the fan
and it makes me smile
wondering
whether I ever dance
to the music of my life.

And balloon, you make me realize
how important it is
to have a good time
because as long as you’re
colorful and bright
nobody cares
if you’re empty inside.


:)