Monday, November 30, 2015

I am suffering from a Benjamin Button like EQ syndrome. In the past few years, I've been feeling and doing things that are fine when you are 19, or even 25. But downright stupid at my age.

And I tried to stem the downward spin, I did. But it's difficult when stupid makes you so happy. I guess I should have remembered that it's even more difficult when you get the inevitable wake-up call.

After all, only the very lucky are able to stay on in Fools' Paradise forever - the rest are just shown glimpses. And I've never really been lucky. In anything.

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Full Circle

You're humming some random tune
Making yourself your morning cup of coffee
And suddenly that tune messes with your memories - and your head
And the coffee turns cold, sitting forgotten on your desk

A weekend spent surfing channels. Endless, mindless sitcoms.
Laughing at a silly joke you sink into the couch
And then you remember a talk you had in that very place
And the mindlessness becomes a welcome relief...

A perfectly normal conversation at work
On mundane, boring, every day things
When out of the blue, that voice over the phone
That intonation, certain pronunciations - reminds you of someone else

And the yearning hits you - like a fist to your solar plexus
And you can't respond to the questions coming over the line. You are short of breath.

They say time heals all wounds...
...Except those it doesn't

Friday, August 14, 2015


You think you are too old to have your heart broken.
And then you discover pain never goes out of style. 

Monday, March 9, 2015


I love the smell of home.

The smell that assails my senses when I step into the room I grew up in
My memories traversing a different space and time, automatically
When this was life...

My fingers move, of their own accord.
Opening this, adjusting that, trying to place things just as I liked them a decade back.
And all the while, I breathe in a past.

It’s a whiff of childhood, and of adolescent pangs
Of the sense of liberation once exams were done and dusted
And the warm, lazy, endless summer days began

There is an aroma that could only mean mom
Her clothes, her cooking, her hugs
Mixed with the sharp, burnt, heady smoke from dad's late night cigarette

It’s the scent of first love, of late night phone calls
Of the feeling that anything, absolutely anything is possible
The scent of dreams yet to be realized, and thus, yet to be broken

It’s the sense of growing up, leaving the comfortable behind
Forcing yourself to spread your wings, even if you are scared of heights
The refusal to acknowledge the overwhelming homesickness

It’s not a sensory overload, oh no.
It’s more subtle, creeping in and catching me unaware during those flying visits home
And that’s how it departs too. Slowly, almost unnoticed, almost too soon.
Till suddenly, I feel the familiar ache of something missing
And I know it’s time to move on.

Friday, March 6, 2015

A random love letter


You have given me so many 'firsts' - I could put them all together and create a brand new life. A brand new me.

A me that I wish I could embrace all the time. And not in bits and parts. A life that I wish was the one I lived endlessly, and not in stolen moments.

You are the madness in my life. And the sanity. The storm and the anchor. The dream and the reality. You helped me find myself - by letting me get lost in you.

Deliciously, maddeningly lost.

You've woken a part of my soul. And changed my essence forever. And I'm back to where I started, longing for us to begin, all over again. So that we can discover, all over again. Resist, all over again. Surrender, sink and drown, over and over again.

I'm waiting for the firsts', to transform into forevers'.