Excerpt from my Life part 2

This won’t be the best of my works. Hell, it’s not even a work. I haven’t been writing lately. Come to think of it, I haven’t been practicing any art.

She’s not happy, my inner artist. Oh no, if she’s anything like me, she’d probably be doing a great show of rolling her eyes at me, her mouth pressed in a straight line. 

Honestly, there’s no one to blame. When you start leading an almost robotic life, the scope of inspiration is reduced to null and the void that is created in the absence of inspiration is fucking heavy to carry everyday. 

Even sadder is that I’ve left small joys of life behind too. Behind what, I do not know. But I don’t apply eyeliner anymore, I don’t do snapchat stories anymore, I don’t read anymore, I don’t crave Kit Kats anymore. Why? I simply don’t have the will to.

Everything that I do nowadays is being done out of obligation. When I wake up, there’s nothing to look forward to and my bed is the only place where I am able to find peace. At least, sleep is faithful to me. 

I don’t love the things that I used to, anymore, but I haven’t developed any new dislikes either. It’s strange! Who was that person that used to skip classes just to enjoy a cup of coffee? 

Again, I don’t have an answer. 

All I know is that the music is losing it’s meaning, the words seem like a jumbled disarray of alphabets, the sceneries aren’t picturesque anymore. Every emotion that is demanded of me is superficial and so are the relationships of which I am required to be a part of. 

You know about how someone becomes a part of your life, you give them a piece of yourselves?

I’ve lost many a people in the span of 2016-2017, literally and otherwise, and I guess somewhere in the process of losing them, I lost myself too. 


Excerpt From My Life.

Here I am. Again. It’s been a while. 

I’ve craved the woodsy smell of paper and the ink stains on my hands. I’ve missed seeing my handwriting on paper, I’ll be honest. And I’ve missed getting lost in the thought of someone or something so much so that I forget I am supposed to be writing about them. I’ve missed the aloofness.

And these cravings have been satiated now, surprisingly, because of you. Yes surprisingly because you, my dear, are the source of all of my cravings, the epitome of all my wants.

But you never fulfilled them. 

Yet, here I sit with a thoughtful expression on my face, trying to relive all the memories of us. Reminiscing. Its nothing big. Just need to remind myself how I once perceived perfection’s human incarnate.

Oh yes. You were that important.

Hmm. You. Us.


Nostalgia is such a strong emotion. But so is repulsion. And you, my dear, have made me experience both of them together. 

And one more. The strongest one, which I desperately wish to feel again but despise with equal fervour.

Quite the peculiar one, I must admit: Love

And so I believe we’ve arrived at the plot twist.

Hmm. Love.

Yes, yes. I know. How sappy, pathetic and mainstream it is.
But, I also happen to know how wonderful, amazing and beautiful it is. 

Pardon. Was.

There we go! Past tense and love! One of the craziest combinations of all times and admittedly, the most gut wrenching because the ending is almost always a very, very sad one. It would probably make the monster under your bed sob of sadness. 

But we’re human! What are we if not survivors?

So, instead of cursing you to death for not loving me and breaking my heart and whatnot, I would like to thank you for being an utter a** and giving me a good taste of the real world. 

Damn. You really hurt me but you were the real deal. 

So, it’s okay. I guess. I’ve learned to survive because of you.

I hope we have no ice between us.

I will forever hope for your wellbeing and also that you never find love again only to crush it to nothingness, again. 

So, thats that. I guess I can go on about writing lovesick poems and ballads about you now. 

Until I find another craving!

Yours Truly,



Picture credits: @icapturethee ❤ on Instagram 


“Me? I am a daydream. A beautiful daydream you encounter every once in a blue moon, that manages to slip through your secret, muted thoughts and lands into your conscience with a feathery lightness. My intensity is unmatched but alas, I slip out of your conscience just as easily. However, I leave behind an impression when I go. A vague imprint of something fresh, that you’ll crave for a long time. A daydream that transforms into a concept of reality when it returns.

I am nothing but desire.” 


The Girl in the Mirror

“What happened?” I asked the girl standing in front me.

“Nothing. Everything’s fine.” She managed a meagre smile.

It was a blatant lie. The dim, sunken, saddened eyes which conspired with the secretive worry lines, the hollow cheeks with their soft ghastly pallor, the weariness of her once beautifully splendid expressions; said it all.

It was the ruthless decree of nature.

Just like the way lively blue seas gave way to violent typhoons 

Just like the way serene almighty skies gave way to booming thunders

Just like the way steady, humble lands gave way to desolate cracks;

Nature established its cruel beauty in this human relic too.

Marred by the beastial brutality around her, she was still a wonderfully divine sight for she stood defiantly with her shoulders squared and her determination firm. 

It is truly awe inspiring – the way nature changes one. It takes one riding on the highest peaks of ecstasy and elation and as soon one relaxes the minuscule amount, it slams the individual back to the ground, mercilessly and painfully; ramming down the bitter truth that nothing in life came without a price.

That is the wretched goodness of nature. And the aftermath is despicably brilliant.

The once delicate, fragile flower now bore hard, inexorable thorns.

She needed no one to console her, to comfort her. She was well off on her own and even though I heartily despised the drastic changes nature bought upon its inhabitants, I couldn’t help but feel proud of the girl who stood in front of me, on the other side of the reflective glass.

The girl in the mirror was me.


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It Was The Day After I Lost My Phone

It was the day after I lost my phone.
Everything was going smoothly; well as smooth as it could get since my alarm, set to go off at six in the morning, didn’t go off. I was epically late. Again.

And to my utter misfortune, the Vaishali/Noida City Centre metro was incredibly crowded. Again.

Well, one couldn’t expect anything less in the early hours of office-time, huh?

The remedy to get by was quite simple: Suck in your stomach, hold your breath, find a space big enough to squish yourself in and you’re good to go.

You couldn’t actually breathe in there but so long as it took you to the mother of all junctions, yes I’m talking about Rajiv Chowk Metro Station, God bless DMRC, you’re good to go.

Since I had gotten habitual of the mad rush of the metro commuters, everything was bearable – the nonsense chatter of school going children and college girls, the necessary time wasting dutifulness conveyed by “Baby, are you awake? Are you going to eat? Oh, you’re going to the loo? Alright, I’ll wait. I’m just sitting in the metro,” of the dedicated girlfriends, the unfocused stares of the people who didn’t give a crap about whatever was happening around them, lost in a world of their own, and of course, the heavy emptiness I felt in the right-hand-side front pocket of my jeans. That pocket was a renowned dwelling fixture for my phone.

Fully attuned to my surroundings which was admittedly quite uncommon for me, I waited as the metro doors slid open and without wasting a second I sprinted to the stairs, chanting in my head, “Please let it be Qutab Minar! Please! Eight coaches, Qutab Minar!” Being late wasn’t gonna get me attendance for the first lecture! And in all honesty, the Qutab Minar metros were less crowded and more swift.

I gasped when I finally set foot on platform number one: Towards Huda City Centre. The metro which was supposed to take me to Hauz Khas, I was a hundred percent sure, would have had a nervous breakdown if even one more importantly irresponsible citizen of India tried to make standing space for him or her. 

To say it was crowded would be an act of treason in the understatements of history.

However, I gathered my wits and patiently waited for at least two metros to pass before I dared myself to set foot in that cramped-non-breathing space. I stood in the right queue remembering God as if I had my Maths board exam, preparing myself for yet another battle in Sparta.

As the six coach Huda City Centre metro slowed to a stop and the doors opened, my heart beat sped up noticeably. It was unusual but I ignored it and waited for the deboarders to go on their way. I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans and gave myself a much needed peptalk in my head.

The metro was still plenty full even after the deboarders had left. When the crowd of the commuters set to travel with me started moving everything got blurred. For a second my brain couldn’t make sense of anything, drawing up blanks. My breathing got even more ragged. Nonetheless, I moved on with my fellow boarders.

Everything was heavily moving in and out of focus and I felt like fainting and throwing up at the same time.

Just as I was about to set foot in the metro train my phobia hit me with full force and I retreated to the back, pushing around dozens of people, hovering on the verge of a nervous breakdown, almost about to break into a sob.

My claustrophobia was back

It had been a couple of good, peaceful months; a long time since I last experienced it but that day- the day after I lost my phone- it was proven that it still lived in me, dormant but dominant.

And my phone, however evil it may be in my parents’ eyes, prevented me from paying attention to the lack of space around me and kept me busy with hymns and songs. Writing and reading continuously and cluelessly on my phone also contributed to the calm. For a long time, whenever I travelled in the metro my only worry was being tardy.

But that day I realized I had a bigger obstacle to conquer and it had to be done at any cost.

The journey to overcome my claustrophobia started on that day – The day after I lost my phone.