Home

 I say I miss home,

But do I really miss it? How can you miss something that you don't even know of? They said the wanderers have no home, But then what is that my heart longs for? I often look at the birds and wonder, They have the liberty to travel the world, Still, at the end of the day,

they come back to the nest. Where is my nest? Is it in the cup of coffee that my sister makes when my head is bursting with migraine? Or maybe, the reassurance that my father's voice holds. But then I look into my grandmother's eyes and see hope. Can that hope be my home? But nothing has ever felt more comforting than my mother's hugs, Maybe her embrace is where I belong? But isn't home supposed to be a place? I have lived in bits and pieces all across, Borrowed a part of my personality from every soul that had made me feel like I belonged. Often a misfit in the crowd But I know there's a place where I must belong, Someone's memory, Someone's thought, Or maybe just a nook gathered by the woods.

Shades of dark

I had it all,

and then nothing,

It slipped like sand in my hand

It felt good letting it flow through my fingers, But then it was lost Or I was? Or maybe I am. But if I am Then I don't ever want to be found They say there's a light at the end of the tunnel But my ghosts love the darkness I was asked to let go of my demons But I had them when I had no one How can I leave them? I can't be this selfish. They breed on my blood, But what's mine is yours, right? But I am not yours, My dreams are your nightmares, I let my ghosts play with them. I tried to run away, But my shadow followed me. They say you feel comfortable right before you're engulfed by it, And I'm loving it right now. You can't save the one who is falling in love with drowning. The swim tube they threw at me, I punctured it. Let me be free Right here, right now I'm free. No one knows how liberating it is to be devoid of emotions The darkness is not black It has a multitude of shades And I'm camouflaged in all of them.

Books and utopia

 Books mold you, they said,

But why no one told me how they haunt you? How do you stay up all night shaking and trembling? The characters die but their ghost outlive them all. They continue to grow, They grow inside you, Roots breeding through your lungs, Flowers blooming in your belly, Until you can't breathe anymore, And just before you choke to death They come with a dose of serotonin To you move to the haze. The haze where everything is alright Was this the place they talked about? It aches, But what is pleasure if not the sweetness of pain Right? I have lived enough, Is it enough of a reason to die? My mother warned me about it, But then why is she holding me tight, Saying it all will be alright? Then maybe this is not the place they were talking about. I was told not to run too far, So I dug a grave and jumped into it, Then why is no one planting hyacinth over it?

Last time to be a Daughter

 I used to go to my Nani's (maternal grandmother) once an year, my mum would be ecstatic to go there, she used to say that atleast for a couple of days now she can take a leave from mommy duty, Nani will take care of me. Nani used to get excited for our visit, she'll have our beds ready and my favourite dishes cooked even before we arrived, fridge Will definitely have the ice cream and soft drinks i loved. She will get up early in the morning take care of all the chores will cook delicious traditional food and run after me to feed me, my mum will wake up late then lazily move to the varanda and sit in sun shade, will talk with my nanu (maternal grandfather), my Nani will try her best to provide the comfort to my mum. 

Unfortunately I lost my Nani few years back to a long illness, post that my trips to Nani's place reduced and my mum's increased, nanu refrained from leaving the house so my mum and her siblings started going there more often to help nanu with everything. My mum goes to the same very house, but now she makes sure to pack groceries, she goes there, she cleans the house, cooks fresh for the nanu and makes a point of cooking enough so that he has the leftovers to eat for upcoming days as well. She never said but i know that feeling of going there for a break to get away from here daily duties have been diminished with time. 

This makes me wonder when this feeling ended for my Nani, when did she stopped being a daughter and completely surrendered to her motherly duties, when was the last when before she got sick someone made breakfast for her and asked her to eat it while it is hot. 

When did this transformation from being someone's daughter to someone's mother happen? It happens gradually, but did anyone prepare us for this? How do I know that this time when i leave my home I'll be returning back as a daughter only? 

Image source - Pinterest 

Summer nights

 This summer night is not all bad, staring at this sky full of stars is bringing back a lot of memories, mostly it's of home, home that I've not been to in last several years. Growing I never knew what home meant to me, maybe I still don't know. Moving to a new place every couple of years never actually made me feel content with a particular place, i didn't have a particular room where I grew up, i didn't had a home that captured all of my milestones, i didn't go to a school whose teachers recognised me from the elementary classes. Every few years it was a new place, new school and new people. In this constantly changing surroundings only constant thing I had was my summer vacations, I used to visit my dadi's place every summer, and she always hated when I called it as dadi Ghar, she urged that I call it as my own. Every summer I'd go there and see the same friends of mine waiting for me, same a bed I've always slept in, same kitchen shelves I'll sit on and the same sky full of stars waiting on me. Maybe it was just because I went there for the summer but I've never witnessed a cloudy sky over there, always there were stars to stare at. Every night all of the people will gather outside or sit on the terrace, kids will run and play, but I've always been a timid kid, too scared to fall from the edge of the roof I'll just calmly sit snuggled up with my dadi, she used to put her arms arround me that seeped of love and cool breeze. We'll sit hours like that looking at the stars and talking, she'll always tell me how she saw the glimpse of dada ji in my face, i was too naive to understand what she was expressing but I'll just nod and smile and ask about dada ji, she'll start telling me stories, she'll laugh and cry and sometimes I cried along with her. Sitting today under this sky full of stars I'm starting to feel the same way I felt those summer. But also staring at this sky is shouting at me and crying that in this constantly changing world only thing that has ever been constant is me, no matter where I ever went only this sky was there, so like always I'll follow this moon, somedays I'll be full somedays I'll be crescent but no matter what I'll always come back for the stars. 

Spoken secrets

 You once casually mentioned how you ate a lot of mangoes one summer and gained some weight, and now I can't buy mangoes without thinking of you. I can never tend to forget the small details. I  might forget what happened this afternoon but I still remember what you said before our hands intertwined for the first time. So tell me, tell me about you, tell me a little extra, how you got that scar on your forehead, why you're closer to your mother, or how you like your apples cut in small squares cuz your granny used to cut them for you that way. Tell me why your laptop's password is 'football', tell me why you add parsley while making the omelette. Tell who influenced the way you walk, who taught you to pronounce the words this way. I wanna know, I wanna know it all. I wanna be with you, spend time with you, I wanna be there with you so much so that I know how to make the perfect cup of coffee for you or how you start your winter mornings with cinnamon toasts cuz your college roommate taught you that. 

Life's too short to wait for monumental things to happen. So maybe I'll cling by your door a little more, or maybe you'll say a good night for a little longer. Maybe we could walk an extra mile while eating that ice cream from the shop around the corner which you discovered one late evening when you were hungover. Maybe we could stop caring about our voices and jam to our favorite songs at the top of our voices, or maybe tonight I'll cook some Maggi with extra spice while you make that cardamom tea with some pepper and we could spend the night talking about everything but 'us'. So honey stay with me, hold me and talk, let's just talk, talk about the things that we didn't know that we remember about ourselves so that the next morning when we wake up we know each other more than we know ourselves.

~hopeless romantic

image source- Pinterest

The effortless, mundane love

  Driving through the tea gardens, 'Sing' by Travis playing on the radio, both our hair blowing trimly with the wind, your one hand on my thigh, and the silence. We've been through this road a gazillion times, the lyrics of the song have been imprinted in our minds but at the moment we couldn't care less about it. The brisk voice of the music and the sound of air hitting our car is keeping us going. It might seem like one of the most boring drives but it's a paradox to what it seems. The conversations we are having amidst the silence are what make us what we are. His hand on my thigh feels warm, the kind of warm that coffee feels on a snowy morning, he abruptly lifts his hand in between to shift the gear but then it's back again like it has always belonged where it is right now. The touch between his palm and my leg feels home. It is certain that where we are right now is where we were always supposed to be. There's nothing new about it, this road, this song, this air, this hand has always been in my concurrence and after all this time it's nothing to be boastful about, like every other aspect of life this has always been a part of me. 

So you read about those mundane things that feel warm, nothing alarming but warm like a sweater on a windy evening, you do them over and over again, they've been embedded in your subconscious, you do them unknowingly, even if you were asked to do them again, you'll do that again without a second thought. Cuz when you're doing them you feel safe, free from all of the apprehensions and judgment, at that moment you're not patronizing yourself, you're at ease. And this moment feels like it. Being 'Us' feels like it.

So is that it? What we really long for is being at ease with someone? Just acknowledging the presence of each other and living it as if we have never been the part of the world where this was not there. Knowing that we've been existing forever and no power of the world can undo it. 

Our effortless, mundane love... 

Life

 I always look at the old people and wonder, how did they do it? How do they wake up every day and chose to love? They've seen it all. They've lost their parents, their siblings, their spouses yet they continue to live despite all. Where does the courage come from? Do they cry themselves to sleep every night? Are they really alive or just skin and flesh grieving. This makes me ponder isn't death the most selfish thing above all? People just don't wake up one day, leaving everyone behind. We pray for the long life of our loved ones but isn't it just a way to save ourselves from the sadness of their loss? What if the ones who die go to a better place? Or they steep down to a deep slumber of peace? "It's just life, It'll be over before you know." This line from Five Feet Apart have been imprinted on my mind like a stroke of a stick on the wet clay. But do we actually fear the end of our own life or do we want to prolong it so that our loved ones won't have to suffer from pain? We've been told to live our life to the fullest but are we even living for ourselves? What is the point of life anyway? We're running till the sweet release of death hits us. We celebrate our birthday, we celebrate each year we get closer to death. Isn't it the biggest irony? But what is grief actually about? When we already know the end then why do we keep running away from it? If we know what's gonna happen then shouldn't we spend our time preparing ourselves for it? It is life you gotta live it big and long but is long life really an accomplishment or biggest sin?

Image source- Pinterest

Little Things

 It's the first year of your college, that feeling of homesickness hasn't gone yet, those scars of parting with your first love haven't faded yet. You still regret not getting into the college you dreamt of since you were thirteen. College is nothing like you imagined, you're having a hard time making friends. You spend your weekend nights watching random videos on youtube and randomly you stumble upon 'Little Things'. You start watching and just can't stop so you binge-watch season one within no time. After it you're left in a state of awe, you feel warmth in your heart. In a world where everyone and everything is superficial, it feels good to have someone to count stars with. It makes you realize that happiness is not in the clubs of Las Vegas or the beaches of Bora Bora but it might be standing next to you, making sandwiches for you without mushrooms. This fills your heart with hope, you sleep satisfied knowing that someday someone will walk into your life who'll go on an ice cream hunt at 1:00 am with you, someone who'll force-feed you all the veggies cuz it's good for you, someone you'll not need to wear make up for, someone for whom you'll cut watermelon, someone you can look into the eye and call Mine. Cuz life is not about big villas but strong coffee with masala Maggi on a rainy night. In the end, it's gonna be all the little things you'll look back to. All the dances on the kitchen floor, 4:00 am conversations on the balcony, grocery shopping on weekends, all the little things to make your life big...

(Little things by one direction playing in the background)  

Forever

For a while, I had it all, and then none. It went like the sunset on the peak of a mountain, graciously but fading. I could feel your hand losing my grip but I was so tranquilized by the euphoria of the yellow haze of the sunset that even before I could figure it out, it was all gone and dark. So you know the thing about the mountains that you can see the millions of stars shining above your head, and I couldn't help but wonder that these stars several light-years apart come every night to see their loved ones smile. And at that moment I couldn't figure out whether I was still on the ground or up above in the sky looking for you and crying. I had land beneath my feet but couldn't touch it, my head was knitting thoughts but I couldn't think. Maybe that's when it hit me that you are gone, you are gone forever and in these silent hills, all that's left of you is your fragrance which I could feel sinking deep into my skin. I saw you lying next to me but your warmth was gone. A chill went down my spine shaking, trembling down I fell to the ground. The snow started to seep into my clothes, my arms and legs were getting numb but I couldn't move or maybe I didn't want to move. Do I really need to live in a world where I can't feel your breath on my skin? So tonight I lay down by your side and close my eyes for the very last time. I know the sun will rise tomorrow, this snowstorm will cease but I'll be gone by then. beyond the fact of right and wrong, beyond the places of superficiality, to the place where the sky meets the ocean, with you we'll make love till the forever ends.

Dread?

 Do you ever just sit and listen to 'in the end' and suddenly a wave of low emotions hits you and it makes you doubt whatever you have or had? You can feel the fire of ambitious thoughts burning inside you, your wings ready to fly but the cage of your apprehensions is way too strong. Your surroundings feel too suffocating and make you obnoxious. You sleep every night watching the moon and counting the stars with the hope and soon you'll be there but the societal conventions are too harsh for someone like you. Maybe you're not made for this or maybe you're not made for anything. Is your presence worth it or just a rolling stone getting kicked by everyone? The sense of oblivion that you fake starts to diminish cuz deep down every word, every action stabs your heart and inside it's just a wounded place with blood-drenched in fear and anxiety. The fear of being pristine has made you full of scars that bleed with poems you write and hymns you sing. Nothing makes sense anymore, you think it might be the rock bottom but then you reminiscence the night you felt the same way and realize that was not the rock bottom as you've drowned further down, you might still need to suffer more to reach the rock bottom. Then you gather your thoughts and seek for that hidden box of optimism inside you, you fear opening it, you cry, you scream but with all the courage left inside you, you open that box and take a pinch out to help you through the night. You place it in your palm and clench your fist real tight as it might just fly away from you the way everything and everyone does and maybe it'll be just you and your solemn left looking for the rock bottom so you can rest your head and enter the phase of deep slumber that might never end, the phase of true oblivion, free from sadness, happiness, anxiety but just the mellow...