Multiple Organ Failure

Way too beautiful

ForeverAwkward (And Maybe Learning)

I don’t love you with my heart
because I don’t want your image
to simply thump through me like
a beat I learn to ignore as I
go about my day, no, I love you
with my lungs, with every breath
I take infusing the emotion with
more oxygen, and I love you with
my stomach, as I digest every
unpalatable bit of you, and 
allow the assimilation to nurture,
and I love you with my pancreas,
breaking down the sugared promises
so that only you and I exist in the
here, now, us, we,
and I love you with the neurons
in my brain, which fire off an
orchestrated litany of fireworks
every time you say my name,
and I love you with my spleen,
because I’m not quite sure 
why or how or if at all it works
but it’s an integral part of me,
and I love…

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She was like Graffiti on the walls of an ancient European city. Old in her ways, with a slight touch of the changing cultures. She was a work of art, not understood by all, but admired by many.
Oftentimes she was but a simple, straightforward advertisement yet sometimes, she was a message to the masses. Made by careless, carefree, artistic hands full of enthusiasm, she was full of flaws, but the flaws made her all the more beautiful.
She was like Graffiti on the walls of a child’s room. Innocent in her outlook but an expression of what went on in the mind. Unfinished, forgotten, she was the source of happiness to the mother. She was the kind you could look at years later, and get that beautiful nostalgic smile on your face.
She was like Graffiti on the walls of an Artist’s studio. She was near perfection, and near to the Artist’s heart. She was the one made by delicate hands for himself, and not to showcase to the world. She was the reflection of his story.
She was like Graffiti on the walls of a high school. She was the grunt and pain and the aggression. She displayed the hardships of teenage life. She was the story locked in the lockers.
She was like Graffiti, a multidisciplinary work. A creation of so many different people she had met over the vestiges of time. She said a lot, least was heard. Not understood by all, but admired by many.

Phir Milenge Chalte Chalte.

You meet a person, talk to them, eventually becoming great friends and making a million memories. You have thousands of stories to tell each other and so many secrets to share. Then, one day, without you anticipating, its time for you to say goodbye.
Time and distance separating you, for a better future ahead, for better times, but at the sake of your very friendship. Rejoicing the last days, hugging and promising to stay in contact and that slight fear of “What if we don’t”
You don’t want to come at par with the words ‘good bye’ and you keep playing around by saying things around it. Yet, one day, finally, you have to accept that its now time for them to turn around and leave, to a different place, a different life, a different time. It is time to leave behind all those bags full of stories and laughs and tears and carry new empty bags to fill in with new people. You let them go with a hope of retaining over technology what they’re leaving behind. Video chats, phone calls, messaging, you make sure you’re connected on all available facilities, and yet a fear of distance separating hearts along with.
Not every goodbye is forever, sometimes all it means is ’till next time’. Friendships remain if your heart and soul are in them and retain if you give them all of you.
Just say your last “I’ll miss you” and then make sure you don’t by reminding that person of your existence everyday.
Because its not a goodbye, its a phir milenge chalte chalte.

Letter to my Future Kid.

Dear Future Kid,
Hello. I am who you call ‘ma’ and I’ll make sure you call me that, because I like the essence of it. I don’t write this letter to ask you if I am a good mother or not, because I am. I just have a lot to tell you and I can’t decide where to begin. Or I can.
I am your best friend as well as your mother. That is something I have learnt from your grand mom. Your grand mom who knew about each and everyone of my crushes and heartbreaks and talked to me on how the right guy will come along eventually, yet made sure she kept that distance and authority a mother is supposed to. Likewise, you can share your pains and doubts and all the stupid decisions you make, get counselled and then reprimanded.

Secondly, I am the kind of mother who would never check your phone, your personal diary or even push you to tell me your secrets. On the other hand, I will try to be your personal diary yourself, someone you would want to come and share your pains and joys with, yourself.

Now that all the personal, emotional stuff is said, here is to things you and I will do, together:
We will read. I will begin reading to you from my personal favourites but gradually I will let you venture out in the world of books freely and let you develop your own tastes in reading. I know what it means to choose your own fandoms.
We will travel. I love to travel and it was probably my travels in my teenage that made me who I am. We will explore new places and get lost and then find our way back. We will do that. We will learn from the world.
Also, we will shop. We will go out shopping experimenting with new styles and ideas and it will be a date of you and me every now and then. We will talk over a coffee and fight over a new pair of jeans and we will get to know each other better.

Lastly, I want to talk to you about what I will NOT do. Your grand parents never forced me to do anything. They wanted me to do a lot, but never forced me into anything. I know how important that is for your development and growth. So, I will not ask you to do what I want you to. Instead, I’ll support you in whatever you want to do.
I will not stop you from making mistakes. Many a times, I would know your decision is wrong, but I’ll let you take it anyway. You need to learn from bad decisions and wrong pathways. I will let you do that.
Also, before I end this letter, just remember, I will, at a lot of times, lose my temper or be absent minded or just vaguely uninterested in your every day stories. Forgive me for that, I’m your  mother, afterall.


My daughter’s first love.

After ages, I was back here. In this world of technology, who had the luxury of silently spending hours here? I had a million memories of the place. As I stood there among my long lost friends, I heard her calling out to me. It was my daughter. I had brought her here to pass on all my memories to her. I suddenly felt a vibe of happiness. She had just shared all her new found joy with me. I saw the love in her eyes. I saw her admiring the place.

Back in my young days, my heart would ache to be in this place. I had to fight, I had to cry, I had to convince my dad for a long time.

I won’t let this happen to my daughter, not my daughter, I thought to myself.

She suddenly held my hand so tightly that I was jerked back into reality. She grabbed my hand and ran forward, half-dragging me with her.

‘This is the one,’ she shouted out loud.

I had tears in my eyes. Tears that were a mixture of both joy and sadness. Joy, for my daughter had found her first love. Sadness, for I had not guessed that she’d grown up so much already. I stroked her back and whispered in her ears, ‘Lovely choice, darling.’

She hugged me, picked up that red book and gave it to me to buy for her. I had not realised that my daughter had grown up so much. When had she turned five? When had she, like me, fallen in love with

The Pangs of Despised Love.

I was sitting in the classroom, trying to fit in with the group of girls who were not better than me in any way, or even different. I was just worried I wouldn’t fit in, and so I didn’t. I gave them all of me and they rejected me.
Years later I realise, had I been slightly more self confident, I would not have been rejected.

In my late teens, I went to my younger brother to hug him tightly and congratulate him on being selected in the football team. He pushed me away. I was already wondering if he would, because even though I was now popular at school but not one of my brother’s favorite seniors. I gave him all of me, and he rejected me.
Years later, I realise had I made sure he loved me, I would not have been rejected.

My crush. I really, really, really liked him. I would talk to him all day and had so many memories with him. I never told him I liked him, because I thought I could never get him. He dated somebody else. I gave him all of me, and he rejected me.
Years later I realise, had I told him I loved him, I would not have been rejected.

I went to my best friend’s cat and tried to pet it. It scratched my face. I found her really cute and wanted to make a rapport. But animals didn’t like me. I gave it all of me, and it rejected me.
Years later I realise, had I not convinced myself that it wouldn’t like me, I would not have been rejected.

Pangs of despised love hit you, when you despise yourself.
I never gave myself all of me, and I rejected myself.
Let’s leave behind this fear of rejection and fall in love with our own selves, so that when the world tries to reject us, it cannot.

My Best friend

We randomly became friends

When you sent me

That message, saying I

Write well. I thanked

You, not anticipating this

Would lead to long

Conversations and daily chats

And eventually, sharing secrets

You became

My Best friend.

Without realising, we fell in

Love. They (and trust

me, even I) thought

It was High School

Fantasy. But you surprised

Me by sticking beside

Me like none other.

Through everything, you stayed

My best friend.

College life passed in

Three short years, and

You stuck beside me.

You were

My boyfriend, but also

My best friend.

Years passed, you were

My prince charming and also

My best friend.

You convinced my dad,

We got married (that

seemed like a dream)

But more than my

Husband, you were

My best friend.


Life is not Rainbows

and Unicorns and HappyEverAfters.

You left me.

My best friend

Left me, all alone.

The only one I

Used to thank you

For, took you away

From me.

God took away,

My best friend.