I wish I’d the courage

If I love you volcanic lava deep and lunar crater high, chances are phenomenally bright that I’m the mildly confident, broadly indifferent person in front of you.

I lose sight, not the vision because that’s well in me but, the concoction which skims the evil of you. For example, your negligence towards me doesn’t ring a bell to bail you from my life but shrieks as a challenge: Am I a quitter? That too so early? Shouldn’t I just submerge myself in these flurry of emotions once more because it’s going to be worth the ordeal, like in dreamy novels and movies of paradise, at the end of it all and just drop another “subtle” hint?
I know you’re poison but I’m the crane necked peacock. I choose to consume you, my soul food.
You crawl in my sleep and wonder through me into creeks that are like veins carrying blood to heart.

Since you barely spare the time to see me through in reality, all I can say is I like the idea of YOU. I might not really know, how loud you cuss when deprived of something precious or the way you handle failure. Do you live for your dreams or your daily bread? Would you like to possess me/whosoever you fall for or will you just walk together, hand-in-hand?

I need to know all this and more because I’m the old school that immatures are terrified of. To me, your virtues matter more than the idea I’ve of you.

See, I told you: The vision is well in me. I know vaguely what I want from life and from you but I lose sight in your presence. I can’t see through the opaque demons in you. And I’m full from all your venoms and more yet never satisfied enough to not see you around me and not go crazy like: Yes! You’re here. So close that I can smell your breath and watch you play with spoons and scissors. Close enough to kind of decipher your phonic conversations with each caller that rings your phone. And then, suddenly far far away when you get up and bid goodbye!

And I might never be able to rationalise that what can be captivating, pulling, magnetic about a spectacled young man with tiny, wooly hair, bordering the forehead at awkward angles. Ears that are a size of the mankind, teeth exactly the opposite and nose, as short and fat as possible.

Okay! To all those guessing a benevolent heart and an even bigger emotion from him; let me break the ice.

He isn’t the one who shows rudimentary concerns about whether you’d food or not. Barely ever takes the initiative to call/text/ meet in person and is stone hearted to hear you melt if that’s what his mood dictates.

Everything about this guy is downright shrewd except for the moments in which you decide to withdraw your existence away from him permanently. Miraculously, then he blossoms into an ocean with smooth lined shores. He’ll tell you then he’ll sail through cyclones when you least expect him to cross over puddles for you.

And there you’re, with exfoliating skin that lays bare your naked soul which exists in locomotion. And she sits. She slips. She stands and she stumbles often. Into dreams that are visions and visions which are befuddled, sly, silly and shy.

Shy because they’ll be laughed at hysterically when confessed. Silly because dreams are just dreams, a light year apart from reality. Sly because somehow they have a way with destiny and befuddled because a fortune making destiny rarely knocks in, at the door of a lousy man.
So I boot up and walk straight into him and finally say it, “I…i..i.. love ummm… traveling”.



My contact list is an interesting place to be. It reminds me how close I was with you once that I knew about all the guys and their faint peculiarities that swooned you over them in shopping malls and party halls. And now, how I zoom in- into your display picture to double check whether that’s a wedding ring or just another accessory.
It takes me through your progression: from being a frugal student to the entrepreneur; posing with his latest machine.
It tells me, now you’re a father, to someone else’s daughter.
It shows me the view of your latest trek, of treacherous speedways and rudimentary games that you played with kids in the NGO last Sunday!
Above all, it makes me realise how it was no big an errand to scream, “It’s gross! Change your DP ASAP!” And now I’ve to move boulders to tell you, “You look fabulous!” Or even a simple “Hi!”
I wish to tell you all:
“Your new house is magnificent”
“I’m so glad you’re so successful. You’ve always worked so hard”
“That hairdo sucks”
“You still look the same! (I mean, how?)”
“You’ve aced in the art of making scrambled eggs finally!”
“My beer, from the last bet, is still due”
“I wish we play from the same team unlike during inter college; once!”
“I envy your beauty”
“OMG! You still gush over Kim!”

“Come back!!! Please???”


There you are! With plethora of dreams and bucketful of courage to pursue them wholeheartedly!

And, here’s life! Amused, befuddled, agnostic, asking you to rip off that skin plum with prejudices, orthodoxy, fear and uncertainty.

Today, an eighteen year old body feeling like a twenty one freshly out of school is carved. There are websites and everything online advising you to travel the world and check whether it really ends at the two poles or something unfolds beyond that. To travel because you’re young, free and raring to go.

But I know you’re somewhere timid, restless and irresolute too. So travel the girth of your soul, circumference of your brain and create yourself first.

All your life, till now, you’ve painted sketches, played sports, orated, danced, acted and did what not.

But now tables might turn as your parents, friends, teachers, relatives and all, will ask you to take up engineering or law, in good faith and with all benign intentions.

Engineering is great and so is law, MBBS, banking and so forth. You’ll hopefully mint money, a huge pile of it!

You’ll slog at ridiculous hours of the day to build an empire of that sort, with janitors, chauffeurs all in plenty in your big mansion. For the early years, returning from work at anytime might give your sparkly eyes the quintessential elation of returning to a grandeur like that and call it ‘home’. But then you might feel that you’re so lonely for all such extravaganza!

And then twenty years later, you’ll have a wife, suffering from postpartum. You’ll fix for nannies to look after your creation, nurses to look after your wife and yet she’ll moan that she longs for you, caressing her tresses and singing lullabies. And you’re going to feel so shattered, petty and brittle.

Thirty years later, your kids will vie to have you in the front row when they climb up on stage for doing something breath taking. You’ll promise them that you’re going to catch up on that video recording of the event whenever you get time.

Forty years later, your parents will be in frail health, meek and tender, still praying like they always have to meet you once before they close their eyes forever. You’ll call them up and tell that you’re sorry, that things turned out this way and you’d to fly miles away. And they’ll just forgive you, like they always have.

Stephen Hawkins probably was initially reluctant to conform to the existence of black hole sucking this universe slowly and steadily, because he could see the fellow humans sucking their lives all by themselves, all the time!

Does that mean, you stop pushing so hard for this college admission, that job, those startup ideas or tournaments/theatre plays/painting exhibitions?

I’m quite supportive of the thought: one size never fits all.

This lifestyle might do wonders for someone that you know but that doesn’t always mean that ‘someone’ is you or even close. He might come back from his official tour after a few weeks to his newborn and wife and restore the normalcy within moments. His kids would gradually learn to appreciate their dad’s praises galore on phone after he’d watched the video and his parents will perhaps live a little longer until he returns to see them.

He’ll sew the oddities in order, make fluctuations in daily life the norm and quickly absolve to all whims and fancies that come in association with them.

You, on the other hand, might not have the passion and the conviction to commit, give in, surrender all your time, space and energy into that labyrinth. However, this doesn’t imply that you’re hollow, less of a person, troublesome, whatever…

Just like there’s diversity in religion, region, caste, financial background so are there vagaries in personality types, ways of thinking, passions, virtues and visions.

Money brings in food to the table, a school bag on your kid’s petite shoulders, roof to the four walls and opportunities to travel, to learn a new skill, aura in society and unmatchable healthcare.

But, anti depressants never guarantee a good sleep, accolades from next door neighbour are never enough to entice your own spouse, all new skill development courses don’t assure a nice humane personality, even luxury travel discriminates against an unhealthy lifestyle, more rooms makes family grow farther, mechanically (under nannies, tutors etc) raised children are abstained from childhood and more food means acidity, obesity, gym memberships and insecurities.

So here I urge you all to stand up and take charge of your life. Figure out what you can do for a lifetime without complaining, sobbing and what always makes you go curious; never drop it off! If that thing is academics, then right away follow that trail and if it isn’t, then always accompany it with your studies. Trust me, it never becomes too much.

In fact, this is the only way to find yourself. Life this way will eventually turn out different, there will be fewer dishes on the dinner table, a smaller car, a tiny apartment but you’ll be fulfilled from within. Withdrawing yourself from this sense of satisfaction is a grave, grave blunder. No one around you stays placid unless you’re.

Today, your parents will frown at you, neighbor might laugh over your dreams and friends will call you insane, but those who really matter will eventually understand. Travel this journey before you travel the world, it’s perpetual, personality enhancing and positivity-radiating.

You’re, where your heart lies!


As I squatted down chewing the graphite of my pencil, mulling over the paper, the unsung sagas of the sources of life: WOMEN, my mind worked like the shaft of a motor’s rotor, not able to adjudge the beginning and termination of the woeful vicious circles.

We are brought up in a land where every natural water body is considered pious and has a tale to tell, and the innumerable peaks are considered to be the abodes of various mythological heroes(I doubt their divinity though).

So today I meditated about the above highlighted theme, in accordance with the perennial reverberations on “Women’s safety and empowerment” by the news channels who are selling it like hot cakes and cold beer, I thought of reacquainting myself with certain “facts of the matter” while treading on this topic.

These news channels vociferate that the wincing cries in pain of women are only heard by the deaf ‘government and police’, and hence they have to undergo meticulous scrutinization yielding in myriad stigmas on their personalities.

But I claim for their innocence in such cases, and interrogate every complainant that in a nation where women are coveted to be goddesses: the banks of wisdom and the drains of wealth; why should such divine creatures pull out pepper sprays from their kitchen shelves and use it for self-defense from the delirious beasts instead of just using it for seasoning their pasta?

Why is the biological layout of a woman such that it surpasses through layers of lewd comments and fear in the hearts and minds of women whenever they engage in flings? Why are they the ones who lack in physical endurance and strength and have to creep over a guy (Be it even a bodyguard let alone father, brother, husband etc) in hours of calamities and endless sufferings? When we are preached to be committed to only one being in our lives via the religious texts then why do we worship the gods who practised polygamy? Put at stake their wife while gambling?

It is just because we all are gigantic hypocrites who are corroding the society and its dwellers so mildly that we won’t realize it till one day, the dawn breaks itself directly into dusk, yes, I mean it, with dearth of sunshine.

Police can never ever be vigilant enough to break the shackles of houses and catch the rapists red hand. It’s the all mighty-almighty who can and he’s probably relishing such events and that’s why we still have to look for scapegoats in the patrolling and the governance.

It’s He who has made female a second sex and it is in His name that we manifest women equivalent to several goddesses and the giver of life.

I would wrap it up with one short story: Few days ago I came across a mother consoling her two year old son by saying that “why don’t you let me dress up smartly by being quiet ….aren’t you interested in luring girls in school?”.

And that’s where we as humans are wrong, yes, there…where Women (that mom in this case) don’t respect themselves. .

Without a doubt that child was clueless about what his mom said but the sad part is that he will grow up under her guidance and one day imbibe from her that girls are meant to be lured, to be treated as sex objects, and even that day without a pinch of hint of what’s going on, he will obey his mother and trust her blindfolded.

I ask, where is the boy wrong? We all are raised by our parents, taught what they wished us to learn and where was the scope in our formative years to doubt our parents’ upbringing?

But I know that, 20 years later, we will blame that boy for being an animal, but what else can a being be bereft of the one he is trained to be?


You’re a glass of water
Which is too full
To be carried along carelessly
And I’m a free flowing breeze
Too fickle
To ever be that mindful.

You’re a deep sea diver
Who races against whales
And I’m the one with the gorgeous skin
Too afraid of the tan.

You fly a Boeing 787
At full throttle
And I double check my seat belt
At 50kilometres an hour!

We need to spill some water
And wear a little sunblock
And maybe, just walk?


I pitter, I patter, and click a clack,
About Gandhi and his ideas that worked without a whack.
But I’ve installed an army and a nuclear button,
With a few easy deaths over chicken and mutton.

Now this is not to refurbish savagery in my blood,
‘Cause a fellow in me stands as calm as seas under shrieky thuds.
He’s an overfilled soul and a hungry gut,
Away from his home, in an island stuck.

An island, which is his loyal platoon,
Sometimes engendered with baits that swoon:
Men over women and men over other men,
Since fellow beings are more dangerous than a lion’s den.

But he has not grown on Kindle fables,
And knows of clouds bereft of WiFi cables,
Under which he builds a castle of dreams that never fade,
Since what is life, if not ideas that weed out the good old stereotypical spades.

So he builds out a task force,
And doesn’t let a voice go hoarse,

That condemns religions under the broad daylight,
For victimising creativity by infringement of rights.

That task force are words on paper,
Terrified of intolerance and creativity’s current stature,
Not in just muddy houses and movie halls,
But in shut minds and open tabs of people all!