Friday, July 9, 2010


He would seem less of my muse and more of a distraction,

But now that the distraction has become the object of concentration
He has become my muse by being my distraction

My words come out all twisted
not expressing what I feel
but then do I know what I really feel!
For never before I've felt so confused
but this much I know for sure

He brings peace to my troubled heart
yet he also creates a storm
that raises huge waves off a quiescent surface
He robs what he gives
And then gives what he robs

Dear Lord! How foolish I am about all this
for I know that he is none the wiser about this than me.
Only one thing I wish to know,
one thing to bring me peace.

Do I confuse him, O Lord?
As much as he’s confused me!!

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Just sometime Ago....

After a while you learn
the subtle difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn that love doesn't mean possession
and company doesn't mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
and presents aren't promises
and you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of an adult not the grief of a child.

And you learn to build your roads today
because tomorrows ground is too uncertain for plans
and futures have ways of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn that even sunshine burns
if you get too much
so you plant your own garden
and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure
that you really are strong
and you really do have worth
and you learn
and you learn...

Its truly sad how time teaches what you really need to know... too late though. To look into the eyes of someone you once loved and adored and see that he is finally ready to put everything else aside him and accept every bit of you, every flaw, every tantrum. To then realise that he isnt the one you want to be with, that you no longer feel that same way about him. But why are we still unable to let go? Insecurity? Fear of loneliness?

Holding his hand, wrapping it slowly around your shoulders just to feel a little more protected, looking into his eyes and telling him what you are feeling and how troubled you are... just because he will listen.

No longer a belief in love... a cringe in my stomach when i hear the word, a need to stay away from the opposite sex. Not knowing where you belong, whether getting home will make things better... not knowing where home is to begin with. Here? Or there? Or somewhere i haven't explored yet?

A longing for food, yet unable to eat... A craving for love, yet a fear of the word. Who really means it? Who says it to make you smile? Who says it because it makes them feel better?

Who says it to keep you with them?

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Dedicated to all the man species...

Last night I was talking to one of my close college mate and we went on from talking about her man, my man and then just MEN! We spent hours going over the same things that we have been doing. She said something that made me laugh for hours after she hung up. She made a comparison of men that I had never heard before. “Men are like the robots in the movies. They are created to serve a purpose. Everyone is happy in the beginning of the film with how much easier life becomes. But it always ends the same way. The robots get over-smart and think they know more than their creators. And suddenly they are on a spree of trying to take over the world!”(Lol...Now that’s made up by me... I mean the comparison..Spare my friend...Identity not disclosed)

As true as that is, I really think we should have the kind of happy endings that those films have, where the robots are killed and life suddenly becomes more peaceful. Ha ha, I’m not a man hater, I actually love observing them. Isn’t it odd how men function? It’s always brought to light how women are complicated, but what about how men manage to screw things up? Ever noticed how, you want them to know something and move to action about certain matters, and they don’t? Well, they usually don’t do what you expect them to. My rule is, don’t expect! But then again, I stopped following rules since I was 2. But I do have a few things I believe in quite strongly.

It’s true that the Knight in shining armour is in reality, almost always, a retard in tin foil. He will look so good from far away and once he is nearby, you will soon realize the old saying, “All that glitters is not gold” was actually written for that one species only!

I still am amazed at how well they can switch off and on within seconds. They will pick up only what they want to hear!

I laughed when someone told me the other day 'if you love them you want them to be happy, you would do anything!' Men never think that way. On their priority list is them on the top and there is a big “full-stop” after that. The harder you try to get on that list, the more he is going to keep you away. Period. So like they say about butterflies, ignore them long enough and they will come chasing you, start giving a damn and see how much it helps!

In the end the best way to handle the species is occasionally feeding their egos, often giving them a kick in unconventional ways, being manipulative without feeling guilty and every time he pisses you off, punch him. Kidding***
I really think the rant has gone on long enough and I really don’t want to seem like I can survive without them. Cos more than I want to, I believe that the argument always goes in a circular motion to end at the same note. You can’t live with them and you really can’t swing the other way. Even in a lesbian relationship, there’s one who wears the pants, isn’t it?

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Dedicated to one of the rare true good friend.. i made...

I have a dream...

every time, I close my eyes.
When the silence is deafening,
when the darkness engulfs me,
its you i see.

Beautiful and standing tall,
looking for someone.
I see me..afraid
and lonely.
"Come to me...
complete me.." I plead...
but you do not hear me,
its someone else you seek.

Do you not recognize me?
Eyes that you once looked into,
and made promises of forever...
Don't these hands seem familiar?

They're the same ones you held,
when you slept at night,
I see you with someone else,
you take her hand,
like you once did mine...
you look into her eyes
and are lost...what you say to her...

I know I cannot bear to hear.
It pains my heart to feel this way.
But my dream does not end here..
its my dream..allow me to spin it around you...
as long as you are in my dreams,
i am close to you...

i fear to think of what were to come...
If i stopped dreaming..nothing more to live for...
Hush..oh cruel world...
...I'm dreaming.


The MODERN roller coaster ride.. i dont enjoy...anymore

I've been pushed on to a roller coaster I didn't want to be on I can't see what lies ahead, but looks like a long ride The highs that come make the lows steeper I'm all by myself and I'm getting scared I'm dizzy and I can't see straight I scream for help but it's my battle It's going to be tough but I will come out stronger I can go through the ride or jump off mid-way Trying to make up my mind, on the edge

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

yeah..sure..i'll sign your petition...

It’s tough to pass up an opportunity to express yourself, especially in a situation like now, when everyone wants to speak up.

On 26th November terrorist attacks occurred in the Taj hotel, the Oberoi Trident, Nariman house and CST station. The attacks ended on 29th when Indian security forces, in Operation Black Tornado, regained control of the attack sites.

I chose to stay shut about this incident because nothing I say matters. I can stand in the sidelines and go on talking about it, cowering in the shadows because all I can do is talk.

It’s not a challenge to get me emotion or feel gooseflesh at any show of respect or patriotism to India. I’ve had tears in my eyes in movie theatres during the National Anthem.

I was at the protest march on December 3rd at the Gateway of India, where more than ten thousand Mumbaikars came out on the streets. That's where I took that picture from. There were people waving flags, lighting candles, shouting slogans but the only thing that made me feel anything was the sight of the commandos. A huge rush of pride.

Like everyone else, I watched the news those 3 days with dread. I prayed for those held hostage and I cheered for our cops. But I’m not angry, I’m not screaming for action and I couldn’t care less about old retards retiring.

What I do want out of this, is for our cops to be better equipped with guns, and arms and bullet-proof vests that function and are effective. We can not still be using lathis in this day and age. I want India’s security and defence to be top-notch, after this terror-filled year we’ve had.

If this large scale meeting is of any use and has any impact, I’m not too positive.
I went there, I jostled through the crowds, I saw the gateway, I prayed in the direction of the Taj (which was my reason to go) and then came home. If my doing this is going to matter, if my doing this with a thousand others is going to matter, I don’t think so. I’ve seen and moved on from many other terror attacks in this city and country to believe that we have truly woken up. Woken up enough to not press snooze button again.

I think I heard ‘enough is enough’, ‘it’s time we act’ during the Mumbai train blasts and sometime before as well. Anybody still care to know what the situation in Assam is like?

And the next time someone mentions the ‘spirit of Mumbai’ even near me, they are getting knocked in the head with a chair. There is no such thing as the spirit of Mumbai. People go back to work, no matter what happens, because they have to. People survive on daily wages here; Mumbai couldn’t afford to stay home, scared.
People have short-term memories. People have lives, they go back to. And people have no clue how to channelize their anger.

Protest marches, peace marches, rallies, charities and donations will all fade away in a while, the fervor will die out and we will all go back to our problems, our celebrations, and our own drama series. Until the next time, some other people lose their lives.

And I’m not trying to be cynical.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Normal and average

I met her just that one time.

There was no fire in that eye neither that jump in her step.

No kohl-lined eyes, no skinny jeans, no girly shoes, no colour on those square nails.

She just looked and walked. Average and ordinary.

Not one to stand out in a crowd, not one to be remembered for a special talent, not one to be called popular, she just walked, normal and ordinary.

She wasn’t that bookworm, that smarty pants, that funny one, that leader, that cool chick, that prankster, that writer, that dancer, that singer, that artist, that creative one, or that extremely pretty girl. She was someone nobody would want to be.

In moments of self loathing and pity and weakness, she wished she was more interesting, maybe someone with a dual life, student by day and rockstar by night, or writer by day and superhero by night, that would be cool or maybe she could be just a little funnier or better looking, or some one who could pull off red nail paint or that full-of-confidence stride.

But I missed something. How could I have missed it?

My eyes had failed to see beyond or past the stereotype.

It was a look of easiness, like someone who had accepted who they were and resolved to make the best of it, a hybrid look of determination and drive that seemed to have grown from seeds of self-doubt.

That walk, that walk I mistook for ordinary, seemed to say, ‘I am what I am’

Those eyes, were deeper and wiser than I had imagined. But they said nothing. They gave nothing away.

She laughed and smiled, jumped and played, loved and lied, gossiped and bitched and did everything everyone else did. She wasn’t that bookworm, that smarty pants, that funny one, that leader, that cool chick, that prankster, that writer, that dancer, that singer, that artist, that creative one..

But she was smart and kind and responsible and fun and hard-working and she didn’t give a damn about being second or third fiddle, she didn’t give a damn about how people though they were better than her at whatever.

She wasn’t a loser.

She wasn’t just normal, average or ordinary.

She was perfect at being her.

Dedicated to all ‘ordinary’ girls. Like me.