SIGNATURE STANCE

W ords should not be kept for later because they thrive on mood and my mood is nothing less than a pendulum, so I thought I should pen it down. It's not Monday today but I still got the blues. When I say blues, I literally mean the bluish tone in my otherwise curtain-coloured reddish room, along with the pretty melancholic climate. I hate the dark clouds that get clogged in the sky refusing to pour in, but I love when it finally rains. It's like the clouds have vented out their long-held pain. It feels liberating and very refreshing.  I don't quite feel like working in this climate, rather I would be sitting on my terrace, watching the rain, sipping tea (which I am doing even now to avoid falling asleep on my laptop). But the sad truth is I can't go up on my terrace, not at least for the next 2 months, the renovation works are going on and I badly miss the only beautiful, picturesque location in my house. The staircase bricks are cracked to build newer ones and there

T his started as an Instagram post but I realized I couldn't give away much in a small space, not because it necessarily needs any elaboration but it feels good to give out love. That's what October is all about. One of the most elaborate, unrequited, unconditional love stories topped with tireless acceptance, longing and a bundle of amusement throughout. Like the fragrance of Shiuli - the night jasmine , the film brings out a fresh, unembellished narrative that leaves you in awe from the start, a sheer reminiscence of selfless desire.  Though my mind reached out for Shuili in her helpless state, the thought that kept stirring in my mind was why Dan had to do so much for Shiuli. Why was he so affected by a girl whom he even rarely knew? How did the last 3 words that came out from her mouth become so important to him? I sensed a motive behind, it could have been a strange, nostalgic connection. A past-memory between the two? Something... there should have been a motive and so wh

Why would you want to play the role that life wants you to play? Why would you be burdened by the desire to be someone else and place yourself in a different context of life? Would you rather give importance to your own story or would you be luring inspiration from someone else's? Having no one to inspire you, having no influence in life, having no role model is not really a hitch, kiddo! And yes, you might not be the only one at the table having a brainwave! Why would you need to look around when you can fuel the inspiration from within? Make yourself the best among the rest. Behold what's around, what's beside, but always be drawn to yourself. If you ask me, my only desire would be to sculpture my self... the only inspiration that entices me is nature, and not any person.  Ask yourself how the ocean does it? Ocean teaches you about the ups and downs, the wavering way of life, the unpredictability. It teaches you about the need to prepare our shafts. It teaches you how to

T here's no hope of the smoke settling, even the nights seem blurry and bleak. Peeping my head out of the balcony, I desperately wished for the sight of the shining dust, I wished for magic. For once I thought it was the city lights that kept away the shimmers on the sky, but it wasn't. Nor was it because of the lighthouse lamps. It couldn't at all be the floating lanterns for they appear only once or twice a year. I kept wondering if the stars were under a massic mood swing like me, not wanting to show their face! But how can they stay away from their missy moon for so long?  I couldn't decipher it because it was never visible, it was gradual like slow death. So slow that it skipped our gaze. But now it's obvious, before our eyes, existent and evident. And not us, but the stars had to pay the price, the price of their existence. I am still on the balcony, pondering over a gazillion things, thinking what if I had listened to granny, she had put her heart and soul i

G lued to this screen, white and black my eyes stuck on lofty ideas to crack Chewing the pencil, and whirling my curls nowhere to look, nothing to see me, this dusty room & my clumsy work. It was a warm day until the wind moved in, the lights went out, the bells clinked but no sign of him, still hesitant to pour in. I swayed forward near the window the only distance I could move without much pain, without my crutches. I could spend hours waiting for him, with a cup of chai & bis-coots in hand because he promised to come with happiness and not sorrow this time. Because he had tested me enough and I stand, well... sit, strong and tough. My pen's been my pillow weirdly soaking up my pain it's no different this time. But I want the rain to come down slow, see me smile and ask me how? Ah.. and then starts the dribbles and ripples and with it my nostalgic scribbles...

What do I write about you?  Should I write about those sweet kisses that throb on my lips? the wandering face that brushes my hair? or those passionate eyes ready to dive into mine?  No, these are just transitory... Maybe I should write about the hiccups that remind me of you, the raw conversations that soak us in, or the moon that lights our dreams. Maybe it's time we realize the blinds of blandishments, escape from the lust and the longing, and route for nothing but belonging.