Can you hear that? My heart

Life is slow. Sometimes. Sometimes it’s still. Sometimes you look back and see so much of it has passed in a split second.  When you walk by the road, when you see the gulmohar leaves and yellow light peeking through them. On the traffic lights, or in the arms of three balcony walls, when it’s all so damn still, life passes by. Did you see it just passed by. Did you see the passing by light… did you hear the hush of speed. did you hear the bubbles of turbulence.

Did you hear the calm. did you hear the hum of stagnant. Can you hear that…?

Life skips a beat sometimes. Sometimes it collects an extra one. Steals a moment, selfishly. That moment… the ‘not destined for you’ one. It steals beauty where is finds. It steals love sometimes. Sometimes it gives it all away so generously. Sometimes giving is not generous. It’s selfish. It’s needed sometimes. Craved for. Like a heartbeat. My heartbeat. The only connection to the wild stretch of space.

The only hold… only grip of life. Loosening. Draining. Dizzy. Drowsy. Dampened. My life. My heart…

Life waits sometimes. sometimes it rushes off. It opens itself sometimes. It moves. It travels. A dull but constant journey. You can’t even see when it leaves you behind. like sands between the fingers… it runs off… off the fingers. Off the limits. and other times, it waits. For something. It closes itself to open some time. It holds itself hard and it waits. Keeps waiting. Still. Numb. With a thin wire like breathe.

It’s waiting. It’s still waiting there for you to open…


Let’s play a game…

Let’s play this game… Oh let’s play this game too…


You decide the rules, you just say it and I’ll play. For I once promised I’ll play along… against you and yet by your side and for that’s all I wanna do. For you are all the smiles and you are all the wins… for you are all the tears and all the defeats too. For it’s just you and me. Let’s play this game together.


Let’s have you play foul left n’ right n’ center and I’ll still play. Let’s play it your way… Let’s have you winning all the time… and I’ll still play. Let’s have you defeat me times and again… oh let’s have you defeat me without a match and I’ll still play. Let me surrender… times and again… and yet again I’ll play.


I’ll play along. I’ll play how you like. You want me to stand by your side… I’ll do. You want me to cheer you winning over me.. I’ll do. You want me to be you… ah I will. You want there be no two sides and still your side to win… I’ll make that happen. Crazy wishes aren’t they… for you I’ll make them true.


Come… let’s play this game too…

Walking away from Mirages

God… I so much wanted to have a post with the title Mirages… since the inception. Only I knew nothing of the message I was trying to convey with the name. Or more like I did not have a message to convey. But that’s past… anyway…

So someone recently told me, not really to me, not in the context, not related even… but told he rightly… When you see a mirage, pause, turn around and walk away.

But I don’t do that. Do I? We don’t do that… we take pleasure in running for a mirage, not finding nothing, getting to see more mirages, running more, dying more, wishing more, writing more, crying more. Ah we! For if there are no mirages there are no stories. Stories are about mirages. Oh they are the best mirages in the world, aren’t they?

Stories are your ‘self’ that doesn’t get to live, the mirage that your inexistent self doesn’t get to find. Stories are mirages that never be, yet you see them, invariably, consistently, faithfully. I love fiction. Fiction that never comes true. Everyone loves that. Don’t you. It’s all in its never coming true that makes it so special. I use to love writing stories as a kid. Though most of them made no sense. They lied somewhere under the beds, tight, waiting to make sense someday.  Only they knew very well all along, they never would make sense. Those are the best kinds. Utopian. So unrealistic that you can’t get drifted from real. You never lose the sense of their being unreal. You never leave the sense of their being a mirage and not even a tiny drop of water.

Oh it’s all sun. Shining sun. and Mirages. And no drops of any waters. Here… in a bunch of old stories in my hand. From under the cushions. It’s all fiction in here, strange unrealistic stories of strange unrealistic people… Karan… Antara… Kabir… Bella… Jon… they don’t exist. They never did. They never would. Other than in here. I Can’t let them go, a part of my heart says. But you let them go, for writings might be, stories might be, but life is not about mirages. In life when you see a mirage, you pause, you turn around and you walk away… silently. For that’s all you could do.

A part of you…

Few things fade pretty easy. Few die hard. Few never do. I do not know what category what falls in. I do not know what category this would fall in.

I once read somewhere, that everything that happens with you, every single event of your life, does a trade with you. A trade of you with a trade of itself. Everything that happens good or bad or plain neutral, gives you a part of it and takes away a part of you. A small part, a small corner, may be a corner of your diary or the pillow by your side… may be a corner of you smile or your heart. And when you have gone far away… forgetting the stories… forgetting the traces even… when you have learned to laugh it off… the part, the corner gone does not come back… neither the trace left with you goes away. It does not die… it lives there… inside the event… inside the moment… in the coffee lounge… on the street… in side you or inside the other person… somewhere… as if it was always there… like a habit… comfortable and home.

Going away is not brutal, leaving behind or being left behind is not… I don’t find departing brutal as long as you don’t destroy the part of me in you… as long as you don’t ask me to give you back what I have of you. As long as you let the trade fade in past… slowly disappearing but never vanishing completely… for it cannot. I will be hurt when and only when you ask me to undo the trade. When you tear off the roots… When you ask me to pluck out the moments of your existence off my existence…

… So don’t! Please don’t.

Let me believe in it… I won’t question it’s being truth or a lie… let me hear the memories… in the hush of every night… let me dream of you… let me feel you smiling in my smiles… let me feel you talking… let me find you in me… in each of my sigh!!

My satchel of memories

Long long time since… Since what? Since I missed you? Since I wrote something like this? Since I remained up all night? Or since I got time to look up from my desk to find no you?

Since I walked in rain? Since I searched the bushes for a firefly? Since I unfolded my fingers for winds to play with? Since I stopped listening to the murmur of the dry leaves beneath my foot?

Since I went to temple and had something to ask for? Or since I stopped knowing to have got a wish? Since the fingers folded stopped making sense to me? Since there has been no you?

Since I noticed the hot moist white vapours in my coffee cup? Since last I had a dream to cherish? Since last I heard what you did not say? Since last I whispered.. me too!

Beauty of a Small Life…

Feeling blue I sit by the river side… made numb by its huge mighty wave
Ambitions that I once thought were future I watch them all washed away
King size dreams of a little girl… to ride all waves… to win whole of the world
Little did she know… hard way she learned… world doesn’t work that way

Feeling blue I stroll by the roadside alone… in the deafening sound of rush
On the verge of dying a dream of success stands… and all I could do is push
They peep through the huge crowd… and I take my eyes away from them
I abandoned to shrill winters all that I hatched like my child in a warm hush

Feeling blue I walk to an old place… with flowers in bloom and grasses green
Where people are old and gray… Oh I walk to a simpler world… to an easier life
What no one knows in my world… what somehow resembles to my old good
Did I leave it all in search for future that I call my today, damned of me! O My!

The blue will be washed off… a naïve faith blooms… an innocent wish unfolds
Scared dreams walk through crowd, drowning ambitions emerge from waves
The little girl kindles inside me a new dream of calmness, of un-celebratedness
May I live in here for a little while… unsung but happy… small but beautiful…

P.S. I know its a disconnect but when did I ever care? So… Happy Birthday!