I Express

The orange backdrop with a grey outline  With my glasses off, street lights shimmer like dandelions  I blow on them, they stay just the same  Weak eyes are keen on playing a game  I see a truck with two wheels collide And a lazy potato with a round head so bright  As the cool wind embraces my face  I welcome all stories that this magical dusk creates 

Wish I could keep walking towards sunsets, but I learn to admire it more when I walk away. One cloud took the shape of a cartoon I never watched, but saw my niece laughing at it yesterday. As I turn towards it again, a streak of orange hue appears out of nowhere, in a sky full of grey. The moon is on the other side; like my lover, it shines brighter with every line I say. The clouds appear unidirectional, heading towards the path where the sun went to stay. Two inaudible lightnings strike in the dispersing cloud that was in Peppa pig's shape. The cacophony of chirping birds muffles down, as the sky shifts to dauting dark from cloudy grey. All this creativity is right in front of me, I am just another medium to convey,  Wish I could keep walking towards sunsets, but I learn to admire it more when I walk away.

I went to my terrace this evening after a short but heavy rainfall and my eyes fell on a crow, who stood at the same place for an unusually long time. My mind wondered what it must be thinking or does it even have awareness of its consciousness? Every time its head moved, the feathers jumped a little, just half an inch. I tried counting but it was not a straight rhythm. Sometimes the head turned slightly and the feather didn't move but the feather jumped high whenever the head moved with a usual jerk. I decided to stay back and witness its journey, I thought I'd leave only when it decided to take flight.  Perhaps it was seeking its tribe, that might have flown off far midst the rain. Perhaps it was awaiting its love, the one who promised to meet at my terrace. Perhaps it was seeking sympathy, but ignored it whenever a flock sat around it. Perhaps it was seeking answers about why I was starting at it constantly. Perhaps it was lost since its flock flew to this area recently. Per...

This feeling of being buried; under the sofa, the bed, the cold tiles I crave to experience being unseen, but I already am locked out of the cloud of creativity, the chained hands  yearn to play the balance of music, but the urge to live the life I had envisioned such year, succumbed by the heat is just a mere excuse to sulk at the fate, that I was gifted all limbs and a mind capable to innovate, yet I rather scroll the void, chasing the attention of the unknown, hoping for it to make me feel like home, one that shines  already in the rustling leaves of the pine trees; but is one injecting me with enough shame to express it poetically. This is a sign that I need to be overwhelmed with grief, let the silence of solitude help me satiate the breeze that brings within it the hope of the unbridled and unseen charm exhibited by another matrix version of navreen

 I miss my Daada, my grandfather, I miss him so much. It's been more than 12 years since he passed away but I can still feel his presence. I was in school back then and I didn't realize how huge that loss was. He used to pick me up after school. He had retired but used to go to office at times and came to pick me up in his car during his lunch time. I used to ask him for 10 Rupees to buy a packet of Chips. He happily gave it to me and I munched it on our way back. I always used to offer him one piece of chip and ate 2 myself, and we used to have a lovely journey back home.  I wish I could talk to him, I do feel his presence but I would really like to talk to him. I long to hear his voice.  One time, back when there were nokia phones, the button to cancel the call was broken on his phone. He had accidentally dialed someone and I was laughing so hard when he couldn't cut the call. He let me have a hearty laugh and didn't scold me about it.  He used to wake me up in the...

When I quit being a Lawyer, it was an obvious assumption that my parents would never support this decision. These hard-working, middle-class parents took a loan and spent lakhs on my college education, and I decided to play and teach Guitar instead?! To be honest, I didn't hold on to any hope or support. It was a heavy risk, one where I just went with the flow of doing what I loved, while feeling incredibly guilty.  . Living independently in Delhi was a crucial and a necessary decision. More than my family, I wanted to prove it to myself that I can make a living out of just music.  'Making it' holds a different definition for everyone. For me, it was always about spreading the joy of music -  be it by performing or teaching or social media. The platform didn't matter as far as the message was passed across. . I look back and I wonder, was I really that alone in the journey? There were several things that I was never permitted since I was brought up in a small town,...

I had forgotten about the existence of this Blog. . My student shared a really vulnerable writing of hers' that I happened to read, and it inspired me so much that I hungrily started searching for the time I used to write like that. Shamelessly, honestly, vulnerably.  Read here how she named her Guitar . I read a couple of my old posts and I am in awe! I have fiction-ed stories that never happened and I completely forgot about the existence of this side of my mind. I do journal my real emotions every now and then, but weaving stories that are hardly related to any real life moment - how did I do that? And why did I ever stop? I guess social media has a part to play - the need for instant validation. This was indeed a beautiful world I was building and I was probably not even expecting someone to read it, it was my own little bubble. I am confused because writing like this was a grand escape that I let go . I did write a poem a few days ago that felt liberating, and this poem was al...

"It isn't that dark," I made my way to the door before my mom could stop me, "I'll be back soon" I could faintly hear her crib as I shut the gate behind me. The weather was too good to avoid a stroll. The roads were still damp and the fragrance was amorous. I saw a girl who was fidgeting with her phone under a tree. Our eyes met. She opened her mouth to say something but then hesitated. I removed my earphone, "Sorry, do you need help?" "I don't know the way out, this is embarrasing," her voice was bold. "Hey, don't worry about it. Tag along" I initiated the conversation, "Been living here for a year but I still get confused" "And there are no street lights," she was frustrated, "plus my GPS gave up" "We'll be out of here in 10," I assured her. We both, surprisingly had the same stature but she was more lean. We connected almost instnatly. Within 6 minutes, we...

       I was overwhelmed. I exited the college gate, all gay, adoring my name on the certificate. I had won the 2nd prize for western vocals, inter college. It was my best so far. While walking my way towards the metro, I called my mom and she was all happy and proud. My dad, from behind her, shouted, "I smell a new Fender in the house!" The thought of a new guitar forced a shriek out of me. I dug deep into the imagination of how it would be like when I'd finally learn to play. I was walking and swinging my way... into my bubble, unaware of the atrocities of life, sinking deeper into my emotions, giving in to materialism and dependency, blinded by desires, to what lies beyond.            I was climbing down the steps to the subway when I first saw her. She was sitting on the fourth last step. It was her bagpack that caught my attention at first. It had multiple psychedelic patterns that looked hand-drawn. Since I was all happ...

        And then there are farts that tend to be so discreet that they travel all the way up to your vagina and tickle the insides of your pussy lips in a way that you can't decide whether you're horny or grossed out post the outflow.

Isn't masturbation supposed to tire you off to sound sleep? Lately, I can't help but contemplate post climaxes. I hear my stomach growl whilst I suck the cancer stick and acrimony surrounds me. Is it the lifestyle, the people, the weariness of escaping? What is it that stops you from being yourself? How hard is it to prioritise and stay happy? Well, the two are, apparently, inversely proportional. So you live with the thoughts of happiness in the long run? I fail to understand that philosophy. The clock ticking, the cursor blinking. How long is the wait? It is the moment. It is in the head. In your control. You need yourself before anyone else. Emotions or Practicality? A balance. A canvas. Colors. Nature. A blend. You've done it before. You'll do it again. At rooftop cafès when people came up to me, clutched my arm, "You play beautifully!" I'll charm myself before you again.

  "The blood oozing out from the cut, gave me immense satisfaction."  "But where was the cut?"  "His neck."           I recently read about Nietzsche's thoughts on Morality and how the good and the evil have been reversed. He asks one to revise the existing norms and to live on ones mental instincts rather than following the herd morality. Isn't that a contradiction there?            The individual's mental instincts. Would they be good? Who decides the evil? Where do you cross the line?            When one is raped, why is there pressure on the law by the family? Would indirect foreordained justification calm your blood? No doubt Nietzsche spoke shit about democracy. 'A 16-year-old girl and her 22-year-old boyfriend were arrested for killing the girl’s adopted parents and leaving their bodies in the house to rot in an upmarket neighbourhood in Vadodara.' ...

   Today, in this huge, busiest government hospital,      In the retinal department, There were eyes covered with bandages, hopeless women in crushed sarees carrying around their appointment cards, clueless search for room numbers, the frustrated guards, women holding their crying infants in their laps hoping for them to be patient, kids snatching cellphones from parents to play games and and those occupied doctors! Cacophony, pain, despair. While in this room 155, where a patient was getting checked by this female doctor, an old man entered. There was a huge line of patients outside 155 but this man just entered. When I looked at him, I decided to pen him down.      Lean, hunched back, his white hair barely grew, he took the smallest steps..                                               That innocence in his eyes and th...

A female pedestrian to a man in car. "Which way for W-132?" "I am going that way. If you don't mind, I'll be happy to drop you." "No, no, no! Thank you," starts walking away. "I'm sorry. Please take the first left and another left from the T point." The lady nods. As the car leaves, it strikes her.  We are so used to eve teasing, harassment and the news of brutal, inhumane rapes, marital rapes; imposed inferiority, backstabbing by our own blood that it is impossible to trust any man at all.  That man seemed decent enough. But thanks to those men of our society, that we are pushed into mistreating the ones who would rather genuinely offer assistance! Not only that, the women of our country are so accustomed to assume that if a man and woman can sit together in one car, without any consented relationship, they she is character-less! PEACE. Dear dear silver lining, India proves your nonexistence. :)

He bowed down to an effigy who wore sari  and red paint on lips; And whistled at women who dressed the same. She prayed for her husband's promotion and son's progress; Her daughter kept on pleading to delay her teen marriage. He sat outside the temple shivering in the thinnest sheet one could imagine; A man in tuxedo passed him with a bundle of dollars and handed them to the saint whose gold could weigh almost half of him. Starving, she saw men entering the octagonal house empty handed and returning with hand-filled food; She went inside and post following the ritual was thrown out for a reason unknown to her. After receiving a pat from his boss and realizing that his job was his true principle, to celebrate he went out to smoke; A hungry child covered in rags, pulled his coat and asked for food, he handed him his half smoked cigarette  I asked an escort, what is religion to you? She laughed, "The one I had faith in pushed me into thi...

   In a non-AC bus, I was the only passenger in the driver's cabin, along with the driver and conductor. Yes, that would be stupid for many but I did not come across any sort of uncomfort. Further explanation, I was too unwell to stand among the sweaty crowd of the bus. And sitting between two people who were distant from me of which, one was busy driving, anyone but a stupid would prefer the crowd!   Two minutes passed on the traffic signal when I saw a hand cleaning the windshield. I peeped and saw a young malnourished boy. He knocked the windshield to steal the driver's attention. The driver called him by his window and mocked, "Why spoiling my bus, you?" Both, driver and the conductor laughed. I could see the boy pleading but couldn't understand what he said. The driver ordered him to climb up and clean the upper half. The heat was such that if you walked bare feet, you'd get blisters the very instant. Besides this, the boy swiped the upper ha...

    So I took along with me this college fresher. Her very first experience in the Delhi Metro. Glowing with excitement as any other new girl in town, waiting to explore. Looking forward to experience the perks of metro as she had heard of. Fast, safe, affordable. Read Safe. And we patiently waited on the platform till the metro arrived. Post the efforts of entering it, we could barely move an inch in the over-crowded ladies' compartment. She swung her head for some reason, then looked at me. "Isn't this the ladies' compartment?" I nodded. "Why these men?" I smiled at her curiosity. "Baby, this is India." I could not search for a better answer.     Travelling in bus during summers is a task I do every weekend, without receiving any reward. Oh! Exclude the tan and pimples. Here is where I get to see, (apologies) the most uncouth crowd. I was on the window side of the two seater and my best past time is dozing off or music. This ti...

I realized I was shamelessly staring at him but I didn't cease. At the gas station, our bus was standing among vehicles which constantly honked horns. The conductor was engaged in a fight, a brutal one they said, which I didn't bother to look at. Soon the bus driver, too, became a part of it.  Half past one, the heat was intense. Cacophony surrounded me.  Abuses to pleads. One spat paan while the fight continued. For the young men it was a recreation, "Let's call the Prime Minister to sort this out", one joked. An elderly man staring at young girls playing. Women fanning themselves with the loose end of their saree and their mother-in-laws frowning at them as their sarees slipped from their heads. A mother grabbing a handful of chips from the packet her daughter was holding, chewing, cursing the weather, and the fighting men, as few bits fell off her mouth. An unmarried couple, taking all the advantage of the half-empty bus. A lady, post staring me from he...

“My face is BURNING” Never before did she scream that way. Three middle-aged men stood beside her grinning, showing off their yellow teeth between the parted brown lips. “HELP ME. I don’t want...” She fainted. She opened her eyes in the Burn ward. They said it took two weeks of intense care to bring her back to senses. “Get her a pen and paper”, the officer commanded. “I can speak. BURN them” She could see no more but in her eyes, fury was explicit. “We assure you that. Tell us what had happened”, the officer spoke gentle. “That night, I was asleep in my room when I woke up with...” She coughed. “...Men talking” She coughed again. “Rape...Acid...” She breathed heavily. Her eyes rolled up. She turned pale. Who were they? Educated illiterates. How is taking away her face (and life), happiness to them? I don’t know the answer to this but tell them, beauty is a great source of masturbation and that would have been perpetual. Is that is how we can st...

She was playing with his shirt buttons. In the metro, they stood face to face. Though, her head swung down often as she talked and smiled and blushed. The metro was crowded. But for her, it was just him. You could tell it from her eyes. You could see her eyes twinkling as she looked at him. She was beautiful, wore a salwar-kameez, hair tightly tied up. Her fingers brushing his’. In between, she slid two of her fingers in his breast pocket and giggled. She had a baby laughter, pleasant to my ears. She seemed so much in love, so content. Her man. Where was he? Yes, in front of her. Where were his eyes? Where were his eyes? I regret looking pretty that day.