Zendagi Migzara

Among throngs of people My eyes searched for you I tried to spot your salt and pepper hair And craned my neck to view My heart was thumping against my ribs I didn't know what to do Had you already left ? That couldn't be true How could i not see you one last time How could i not feel your heart beat against mine ? Just one last time I was ready to promise anything away The Universe was treating this sacred moment like child's play Someone heard my prayer, For you tapped my shoulder and said my name In that moment I tried to memorise The creases around your mouth The ever present glint in your eye How long can I hold onto it? Maybe until next month Or next year Maybe my entire life And then maybe some more. Your familiar scent reached me The aroma of that clothes softener Meant so much It meant more than you'll ever know It meant more than I'll ever show It meant you. So for 10.65 SGD a bottle I can capture you forever And every Sunday you'll float Into my h...

I've missed writing on this blog. Often a story would pop into my head and then as i began to jot it down, it would slowly drift away as well. I often fantasized about taking a week off just to write all these half-stories in my mind. But then, I have forced myself in the past to sit with a laptop and my blogger draft page open and nothing would come from within, either the story would vanish or I wouldn't have the words to write it or I would have the words for it and wonder if I wanted to put it out there. Over the past year I've had a tumultuous relationship with faith and the universe and love and life in general. Family and friends existed and were always there for me to reach out to but I didn't seem to want to include them in what i was going through. Mostly because I was having a tough time trying to define what was happening myself, and then to try and explain it to someone else seemed too mammoth a task for my weary brain to undertake.  Also, pos...

as i walk back from the train station towards home, i cross a football field. Often its late in the night, the stars are out, a few folks are running or walking on the track. I take off my footwear, hold it in my hand or put them in my bag and walk barefoot on the field. As I walk, I gaze up at the sky and watch the stars burn, and often my favorite poem comes back to me, 'how should we like it were the stars to burn, with a passion for us,  we couldn't return?....if equal affection is not to be, let the more loving one be me ". I stand and stare at all the stars, the big ones, the small ones, the ones that glitter and the ones that don't. The ones that form a shape and the ones that stand alone. But mostly, my eyes seek one set of them. I begin by identifying three of them in a row and slowly it begins to take shape. Orion, the hunter. I often look at it and smile, or cry, whichever way my heart is tugging that particular moment. But its one of the few mom...

"You have my words, maybe that's why I'm incapable of writing this year, all my stories begin and end at you. You have my soul, maybe that's why i'm incapable of baking this year, for baking was my meditation and i no longer have the soul for it. You have me, pieces of me and maybe my whole, so I've spent this entire year trying to find myself, piece by piece, day by day, most at night." ~ nine Dhruv and Tara met each other when they had both begun to accept defeat. He was afraid to love, afraid of opening himself up to hurt again, and for what, for whom? For yet another failed attempt at finding his soulmate? Did he even believe in that anymore? What was love? A bunch of bullshit that american television had subjected us to? This picture-perfect visual of love between two perfect people in perfect circumstances, does that ever happen in real life?  Isn't that the reason for all these false expectations then? The standards we all hold...

I've been wondering for some time now that I should write a book. or at least publish these stories that I write. Or at least copyright them ! Not that a Bollywood scriptwriter is scanning the web to pick out the next big blockbuster, but you never know (!). It's Diwali, my favorite time of the year : it sits perfectly a few months after my birthday and a few weeks before Christmas. My resolution this Diwali is to start writing happy stories again or maybe start writing one big story with many many many happy-sad parts. So before I start on that ambitious project, here's a last one from me. This story came to me on a rainy Halloween night. I wrote it first as a note in bullet-points on Google Keep, then transferred it to Google Docs, and then edited it a million times. Now, it's finally ready to be posted here. It's the story of a girl who is letting go of the man she once loved, and she doesn't know that yet. Fate has planned each step meticulously to aid he...

It was a long community table and the seat next to me was empty. It had been a year since i had been to one of these. A year of hopes and promises. A year of scarred hearts and broken dreams. And then i saw her.  She walked to the group, regal and stately, and sat down on the seat next to me. As she introduced herself, i thought to myself: her voice sounds foreign, but then everything about her was other worldly. Angelic almost. I saw him approach and observed him as he bent down to kiss her. I froze. And with me, time too stood still. Nothing existed, except him and her. There she was, right next to him, right where I should have been. Right where I used to be. I clutched at my crumbling heart, and pinched myself to numb the pain, collected my shattered remains and rose to leave. ' Always carry a soft smile, like a Buddha ', my teacher once said to me. I willed myself to invoke my inner Buddha, as i said my goodbyes. And then i gave my withering hopes one last...

​ The day had dawned filling her with fright she didn't want to let go, but it had to be tonight ​​ She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in joined her palms in prayer, bowing to the light within. With the second breath in she held him close and held him tight and with her breath out, she gave up the fight. It will not do to dwell on him anymore she'd given herself all this time and now she had to let go. She sang and danced and announced to no one 'The funeral is today, let the mourners come' They came and laid a rose on the grave said their sympathies asking her to be brave. She said nothing and watched them go she didn't utter a word didn't let it show. She welcomed the dusk and watched the sun go down hiding her duality of being a murderer and a clown. In these times of instant messages and chats she'd written him a love letter not for her, this business of stat. She had fought with her stars and arm-...