Desert Rose

When everything seems to be in place but yet it doesn’t feel that way. When the heart is always wandering but even the destination finds it hard to believe that you could wander. When there is not a bit of emotional energy you have for yourself and yet you squeeze out all that is left for people around. When you are honest and say uncomfortable things only so as to make the future comfortable but all you’re left with is a judgmental  sigh. When we are busy making assumptions and judgement  without realizing that you are being judged too. When you give your everything professionally but stingy ones on the other side dismiss it over convenient excuses. When you say “Me too” and people around dismiss it by just saying “oh you too”. When you’re constantly watching series and movies on digital platforms which of course are so brilliantly made, but you wonder why it is all about killing, dying, evil & fantasy – more like the end of something is near....

The dream catcher slowly shifting. The curtain slightly swaying. The night sky all lit yet dark. You are the silent type. Aren’t you? The thoughts in my head. The memories from all around. The dreams in all its glory and power. I am not too silent. Am I? So why don’t you speak too. Or even shout. It just takes a thunder or a storm after all. In that kind of night, you can dissolve my voice. And then maybe we can have a dance.

“You know what. I really can’t stand that. It is so distracting. Why can’t she stop doing it?” “He will never understand. He’s always been this and nothing is going to change.” “I don’t know. I can’t tell her this. My relation with her is not like you and your sister. We don’t connect or share much. So I don’t think me asking will work.” So what is the one common factor about these dialogues? It is the very fact that the issue is not being discussed with the person involved but with somebody else. And this aspect has been grabbing my attention way too much lately. Most problems I hear from people of my circle actually boils down to this – lack of the 2 C’s. Confrontation & Conversation                            Source : https://goo.gl/images/eN9vGx “Sometimes you just need to talk about something – not to get sympathy or help, but just to kill its power by allowing the truth of things to h...

                                                                JO&LE I know. Beautiful. She seems to be at so much peace. Such calm. While it all seems so, her brain is exploding with questions and her eyes are filled with wonder. And mind you, those are the questions that actually matter. “Where does the sun hide when it goes to bed at night? Where does the moon stay all day long? Why is pink, pink and orange, orange? Why do some men have beard and some have a smooth face?” She mostly wants more – be it the carrot cake on her plate or the stories around the world. She says things as she feels it. She cries when she feels like. She sleeps when she needs to. Here I am. Grown up. So grown up that I am currently reading “The Subtle Art of not giving a Fuck”. That’s the fine line I guess. She giv...

The kind of situations we encounter while going up and down. Ah! These elevators will have so many stories to their credit. The earliest memory was when I was about 7 years. Yes, I wasn't too sure of what to do inside an elevator then. So on reaching the floor, my parents and a couple of others on board moved out and the door closed before I could get out. Since someone had already pressed the buttons from the ground floor, the panicked me was on my way down. In the meantime, my dad like every little girl's superhero chased the stairs down. But me on reaching down thought I will stay indoors and go up to find my parents. So I stayed in and told the uncle in the elevator where I wanted to go. Yea my dad missed me again. He then climbed the stairs back to find me coming out of the elevator. The first thing he did was take me back inside and teach me exactly what to do.  #childhoodmemories Then there was this one time after watching a movie. We were headed back...

“Sending letters and cards have been a part of us for as long as I can remember. Texting, social media and phone calls all work out just fine but there's this electric, yet very soothing energy that revolves around the art of writing the same down on paper, digging up an envelope, throwing in som e stamps, lick-sealing it (Kidding, don't go there  #papercut ), seeing that beautiful red box, slipping it in, praying to all the Indian Post Gods ‘thou not leteth them goeth astray', hearing the khakhi attired person ring the cycle bell, see them walk in the gate, 'Sukumaretta, kathundo?' (‘Do I have letter?’), to which he'll nod. Your loved ones would run to the door, wind in their hair and take the letter to find a random LIC letter.”  Quoting Flynn George coz I couldn’t put this any better. Writing letters is fun, therapeutic, and has a much deeper meaning to the recipient than anything else. For that matter my husband proposed to me over a letter and I sai...

You know that feeling? When you’re just waiting. Waiting to get home. Waiting to get into your room. To close the door, to fall on that bed. And to just let everything out that you kept in all day. That feeling of relief and desperation? Nothing is wrong. But nothing is right either. And you’re tired. Tired of everything. Tired of nothing. And you just want someone to be there, to tell you that it is okay. But no one is going to be there and you know that only you can fix you. But you’re tired of waiting. Tired of having to be the one to fix yourself and everyone else. Tired of being strong. And for once you want it to be easy. To be simple. To be helped. To be saved. You know the chances are slim. You’re still hoping, right? You’re still wishing, isn’t it? You’re staying strong and fighting with tears in your eyes. You’re fighting. Keeping fighting. Write yourself a warrior’s tale.

She walked in barefoot into the nature. Something whispering, murmuring, coaxing and invoking. The many trees that turn color in the fall. The sunlight filtering through the treetops making beautiful dappled patterns on the pond. Children all around making happy shrills. Running, playing and being their age. The lone couple under a sprawling banyan and the other couple freezing moments of maternity. The bald man asleep on a bench and another just like that on the grass. A young lady reading ‘God of Small Things’ and the grandpa with his kindle. A bunch of burqa clad women busy picking fallen leaves out of their lunch boxes as they sat in a circle, giggling. And another lot playing ice and water. Babies in their strollers and the puppies strolling around. Roses of every color and shape. Some as big as two palms cupped together. The gulmohar, silver oak, pink Cassia and hundreds of nameless astoundingly beautiful plants. The texture of the ...

Disclaimer : If anything from this post relates to you or offends you, please don't be. You know we're talking about the other parents! This aunt I know. Apparently she was this extremely fun woman who believed in breaking the stereotype norms and go far. She lived independently and did a lot apparently. But now years down the lane, her daughter is not allowed to stay out after 8 pm, not allowed to drive because it is too dangerous and a whole lot of not allowed to do things. Fair enough right? My little niece. Oh she be one adorable doll. So her mom had gotten her morning milk ready in a blue sippy cup. She pushed it away and demanded, “I want the pink sippy cup, not the blue!”. My sister’s face whitens and she rushes to get the preferred sippy cup before the baby throws a tantrum. Fail! What are you afraid of sister? I go out shopping with a family friend. Their little boy loves my company (or at least it feels that way with all the fun we have). We are at the...

It was my turn to move away from home. It was time for me, like they say, to go behind my dreams. And I was sure. My entire world was sure that my father would not deal with it well. I knew he wouldn’t wave goodbye without shedding some tears - joyous and anxious. (Somewhere I was proud of it. Proud of being his girl with whom he cannot stay.) And finally that day arrived for me to fly out and as I walked away, I noticed something was different. He didn’t shed tears and his look told me a thousand things that I couldn’t then perceive. Everyone around including my mother said he had prepared himself well for this change and was strong. But somewhere behind my mind that image remained. Tiny details but the most important things seemed different whenever I went home. He didn’t play his usual doze of morning music which was like an energizer to wake up for us all our life. There were not many evenings where movies were discussed to tiny details. Those evening walks where keeping up w...

So lately it has been a lot about “You’re Getting Married?!” Well yes. I am getting married soon. No I am not taking a plunge or whatever. I am just getting married.  Obviously, I still don’t know much about “being married” since I am just about to get there. But there are a few things I realized over the last few months and this space works for me. There was an invitation that went viral on social media lately that portrayed a marriage as the most horrific thing to do. And then I just got thinking.  The sense of humour has for long compared a wedding to the end of everything. Phrases like “That’s it man”, “You’re screwed”, “End of freedom” and the like. Of course, no denials! I have been part of such conversations myself. But pondering over it lately, I realized that involuntarily these jokes have contributed in developing a kind resistance to the whole idea in most of our minds. We live in an era where commitment and trust is already the biggest fe...

Pistanthrophobia – Is this word familiar?  Well, I came across this one lately and was surprised to find out that fear of Trusting someone again is such a common reaction to being hurt in love that it has its own name. Thinking of it, what is one of the most crucial commodities for a person that’s becoming increasingly difficult to obtain these days?  Is the possibility of interruption and distraction everywhere taking a toll on most individuals and their relationships? Is it the fact that the juxtaposition of people’s loftiest hopes and aspirations with their deepest worries and fears is too difficult to be brought to a balance?  Is it the fear that if taken lightly, one day it might just become routine? Does this all boil down to the fact that we have forgotten about ourselves? That the other person is after all the secondary character and not primary. I don’t know.  What I believe is - It is good to love, because love is difficult. For one human ...

If you can see her for all that she is, every bad decision wrapped in pretty skin. If you can see her fears trembling in her palms, And long to kiss away the pain they cause. If you can relate to all the moments she roared gracefully, and the ones where she stumbled back to reality. If you can look at her scarred soul, and crave a taste of life she’s been dying in. If she looks like heartbreak wrapped up in a smile, and you’ve never wanted disaster in your life so badly. If like her, for you too, ‘happily ever after’ doesn’t mean a perfectly told story, but falling in love with delicious chaos that is life. If you are the kind who admire the gentle breeze, the baleful wind and the storm alike. Then maybe there’s a chance at a true sort of love where ruins are more beautiful than the flesh above.

She was like ice but still burned like no one ever could. She set herself on fire each night because it was too dark and chilly in the hell she was living. She dreamt of people falling from the sky, plummeting to their deaths. She woke up with disbelief in her eyes but the nightmare continued.  She pumped her veins with things that can poison her blood; but she continued breathing.  She felt her insides rotting and quite unsure of how her heart still kept throbbing. She was like ice but still burned like no one ever could. So she put on her pretty dresses and painted herself in different emotions.  She kept singing aloud as if she knew the right trail.  She kept dancing and swaying as if she knew the right moves. What she knew was that every thorn that caught her at each turn, slicing into her, would just make scratches.  She wouldn’t let a few scratches bleed her dry.   So she kept singing and dancing loud enough while...

I thought your heart leaked love;  when did venom turn out to be so intoxicating. So extremely alluring;  yet unexplainably excruciating. It was in your lips; soft yet evil, conquering my soul. It was in your touch; hidden beautifully in that romance. Like a beautiful thing it came; Then a sense of falling and an eventual cease. I am free now.

It was all about order then; But she doesn’t know until when. When did that pull towards love and chaos take over? Or maybe was chaos always the constant? Her world now moved too fast. She missed the shades of each sunset;  She no longer felt her toes kissing the earth beneath. It was no more about order; But chaos. It was like being the moon afraid of the vast sky; but loving the way it held the stars. She yearned for peace from all this mayhem. But she didn’t realise that she invited it; Because she was too wild to feel alive when at peace. To be reckless; To consume. To be wild ; To be her. Chaos was its own kind of beautiful.

All that turbulent past ; to times moving way too fast. All that bow and arrow ; that made it right at my heart. All the wrongs and mistakes ; that saw immense growing up. All those trials that seemed right ; which turned out what I call my life now. All those moments of clarity ; which was just a mere weak illusion. All those questions with no answers ; but just my endless and tired gaze. All that waiting for greater purpose ; which is more about whether I care to hang around. All that turbulent past ; to times moving way too fast.