Wrecking Ball

I would not start by describing the calm I was sitting in before it started, because if I do, I will go too deeply in the details of the poem that was to be, but that is not anymore.
I will start from when I saw the sudden, swift movement of you, coming closer and closer; I will start from the shivering and the chills down my spine.
I will start from the felicity I could experience as the beginnings of your being fell on me; I will start from the smell that at first instilled in me nostalgia, like that of raindrops on mud, but then I realised I don’t like that smell. Not if it remains for so long.
I will start from the heavy wind that blew me off my feet; I will start from the electrifying feeling I had when you thundered into my life for the first time.
It was much similar to how, he too, came in, like a wrecking ball, trying to break my wall, that I built so carefully. I felt it shatter again.
It was a different reality now, unhappily happy, pleasantly dreadful, weirdly normal. It was what goes on inside of me all the time, but yet is sudden, un-looked for, abrupt, quick, hurried. 
It was a different poem then, because that calm was the calm before the unanticipated storm that you were, came in so gracefully and wrecked havoc without so much as a whisper in my ear.

Prince Charming.

You weren’t a prince charming

In a shining armour

You weren’t the guy I dreamt of
You were not my happy ever after

And yet
I fell in love with you
With your imperfections
And your flaws
That I was blinded to
And every word you wrote on paper
Seemed to be dripping with truth

I thought
That you thought
That I am pretty
That I am beautiful
And in that moment
Nobody was prettier than I

I felt gorgeous
Because you said so

You said I do not need make up
And I believed you
Because you weren’t the prince charming I had read of
The prince charming I had dreamt of
But you were, after all, my prince charming

I was your darling you said
And the first boy to ever say
“I love you” to me
And those teenage fantasies
And all the romantic stories
Seemed to be true in those moments

For I was in love with you
And you said you were in love with me too
But you were in your teenage years like me
And as you put it now
Your “pea sized brain” and “raging hormones”
Knew nothing better

I couldn’t feel us drifting apart
Not now
Not in the future
We were meant to be
Forever

We were like those romantic movies
Crazy in love
Perfect and ideal
We were the authors’ favourite stories
We were inseparable
We were ridiculous
Passionate
And childish

And when you wrote that one poem that I fell in love with
The poem I got extremely excited about
The poem you pointed out her name in

I knew in that moment
That the prince charming in my books and movies would come some day
And I just have to wait a little longer
I just have to be a lot more patient…

Cold November.

I sit here

At mid night

In cold November

Wrapped in my blanket

And a cup of chai in my hand

Chai that I never drank

But am addicted to, for the past month

Speculating

About life in general

Listening to the

Tip tap, tip tap, tip tap

Of the water leaking from the shower

My brother did not properly put off

Speculating

About the altogether different life

That I have today

And the life that I had

Few months ago.

I was studying late night

A year ago

I am studying late night

A year later

I had life changing exams then

But zero anxiety

And today I am scared and fearful

Of results that never mattered to me before.

 
My brother twists and turns in his dreams

I look at him and smile

And miss myself being in his place

A few years ago

Having 99 problems

And school being all of them.

Today, I have 9999 problems

And school isn’t one.

 
I wonder why

These little things bother me so much

Why the hatred of friends and breaking of hearts

Don’t seem like problems anymore

And things that I never really cared about

Hit me hard

 
I wanted to grow up

But I swear I was never told

That I would have to bear with me

A different me

A lonely me

A scared me

That I would have to bear with another person

Who claims to be me

But I’m afraid

Is not who I was

A few months ago…

Crazy In Love.

I was out of town past few days attending a typical “Great Indian Wedding” with its many colours and even more beauty. Weddings are always fun, and the ‘Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani’ destination wedding concept has made them ever more exciting!

I was one of the many guests observing the brilliant rituals that our ceremonies have, and on the Sangeet night I couldn’t help but feel the enchanting love that the couple shared. 9 years and the spark is new as ever, as the two are now set to live their lives together, forever. It made me fall in love with the idea of love.

Love is such a weird word, isn’t it? Some call it eternal, some, complicated and still others seem to think it as messy. 

But why do we always expect love to be something right out of a novel or a movie? Why does it have to be a ROMEO-AND-JULIET, FAULT-IN-OUR-STARS tragedy, ending with the Jack leaving the Rose alone? Why does it have to be all about sacrifice and altruism?

Love is beautiful, love is kind, but above it all, love is crazy. Love is a serious mental disease, if I daresay! It’s a fiery passion and it’s a serene virtue.

Love is about giving your all to each other, being the best that the other can have. Love is about the Happy-Ever-Afters of the various Cinderellas and Monicas, and the Prince Charmings and Chandlers. Love is happiness.

Love is about being best of friends, of being the Rahul to the Anjali.

The couple was so vibrant and crazy in love, that the thought of getting married seemed to get them both so excited, you could see the happiness in their eyes. You could see it in their happy dances, you could see it in their laughters and their hugs and their nervous awkwardness. The two of them made the Happy-Ever-Afters seem a truism.

I couldn’t help but smile and hoot every time the couple did something rather cute (which was extremely often)! Congratulations to the new Mr. and Mrs., to the Mike and Phoebe, and the Ron and Hermione of real life!

Purple.

It was her favourite colour ever since she was a kid. Her favourite dress, her walls, nail paint, bedsheet, cushion covers, everything would be purple. She remembered that phase of her life when she coloured her hair purple too! Oh, how she wished she could be purple!

She would dream of being purple in colour when she was 5, and she would dream of being purple in colour when she was a teenager. It remained her lucky colour all through adulthood.

She had a beautiful wedding, themed, guess what? Purple. Purple flowers adorned the hall, the curtains were purple, so were the table covers. The only thing she couldn’t get in purple was her wedding dress, sigh. How she wished that could be purple too! She was still childish in her ways when it came to colours.

But life has some really interesting surprises in store, doesn’t it?

You get what you really wanted when you’re over your desire. She turned purple when her fantasy of being purple in colour was long – dead.

It was her loving husband who fulfilled her desire of turning purple in colour.

Here she lay, in her hospital bed, with bruises all over her body. Bruises, that were purple in colour. Her skin turned purple.. the way she always wanted.

“Here, here’s your childhood desire, fulfilled.”

Flirting With Death.

This is a very old poem, but is very close to my heart and is one of my favorites. I wrote this in the backdrop of the painful partition that India and Pakistan underwent.

There lay a million dead,
Thousands of children under-fed.
The fight seemed to be never-ending
Along with people, emotions were parting.

In this fight between races of human,
In the eyes, where the fires would burn,
Who knew what was the incentive,
Where was the lost motive?

Were we to unite or to fall apart?
With a barrier in every heart,
None knew where they belong,
Gunfires replacing the cuckoo’s song.

Tears of blood staining every cheek,
Relations growing small and weak,
Everyone ran and seeked refuge,
The last kiss, the goodbye, the favour huge.

And as We flirted with the grim reaper,
As our scars grew darker and deeper
We searched inside us for the human,
But he was already gone for no reason.

We ran, we killed, we fought, we raped
Two new countries, a new history we shaped.
But unknown and immeasurable is the cost,
Of all that was lost.

And as we were flirting with death,
Humanity took it’s last breath.

Yaadein.

पहली बार एक तस्वीर दिल को छू गई,
यूं ही उन सुनहरे दिनों कि याद दिला गई ।
वही दिन जब सुबह उठना स्वाभाविक तो था, पर पसंद नही..
वही रोज का रुटीन जैसे बोर कर देता था ।
और उफ! अब कैसे मन करता है कि तैयार होकर,  बसता उठाकर, फिर चल पड़े उस ही ओर, जिस ओर जाना कुछ ही महीने पहले मुशकिल लगता था …
कभी कभी तो लगता है कि जिन्हें स्कूल मे ‘दुश्मन’ कहती थी, उनहें जाकर गले लगाकर कहूँ,  “तुम तो जैसे परिवार का हिस्सा थे”
अब भी जब स्कूल के दोस्तों से मिलती हूँ तो ऐसा सुकून मिलता है , जो युनिवरसिटी जाकर जैसे भूल ही गई थी …

सच ही है, कुछ चीजों का महत्व तब ही पता लगता है, जब वह खो जाती हैं …. हमेशा हमेशा के लिए ।