Monday, December 26, 2016


After the battlefield is finally cold, and the sun has set on the massacre it witnessed, it is memory that poisons those who survive. No matter which side you pledged, dwelling on each blow will kill even the victor. Eventually... and indiscriminately. 

Sunday, December 27, 2015

Lessons That Came Too Late - Part 1

"A nature that does not sue for happiness, often receives it in large measure"

Monday, November 23, 2015

Listen Without Prejudice.

Given enough time, everything decays into rage. It courses through the veins, thicker than blood. It burns brighter than most fires you and I have known. It lives. 

Burning out is a gift, a blown fuse being the final line of defense before the carnage. The limit of human capacity for enduring pain protects not itself, but the source. 

But there are those who don't burn out. Those misguided into striving for invincibility, can only come burning and blazing, or not come at all. They forget how to half-live, they know not how to half-love. Run enough pain through them, and they become live wires; obliterating everything they touch, knowing neither peace nor loss. The current, it's possible, would never stop.

Saturday, September 12, 2015

"In a fine country, in a sunny country,
Among the hills I knew,
I built a house for the wren that lives in the orchard,
And a house for you.

The house I built for the wren had a round entrance,
Neat and very small;
But the house I built for you had a great doorway,
For a lady proud and tall.

You came from a country where the shrubby sweet lavender
Lives the mild winter through;
The lavender died each winter in the garden
Of the house I built for you.

You were troubled and came to me because the farmer
Called the autumn "the fall";
You thought that a country where the lavender died in the winter
Was not a country at all.

The wrens return each year to the house in the orchard;
They have lived, they have seen the world, they know what's best
For a wren and his wife; in the handsome house I gave them
They build their twiggy nest.

But you, you foolish girl, you have gone home
To a leaky castle across the sea,-
To lie awake in linen smelling of lavender
And hear the nightingale, and long for me."

- Edna St. Vincent Millay
"There are things I have wanted so much and for so long, I would only consent to have them if I could keep wanting them."

Top of the list of things I would have said eventually, had they not already been said in a manner so faultless.

The sky is no man's land.

Monday, September 7, 2015


One doesn't play with fire, without expecting to get burnt. 

In doing so, the objective of the game is not to avoid damage. The whole point of the exercise, is to balance ones' instinct for survival against the predilection for self-destruction, and discover which one wins. The war, after all, is always internal.

Thursday, July 23, 2015

On identity and the passage of time.

Cut to 10 years later, and the goth kid in me:
1. has the most corporate of corporate day jobs.
2. wears dark lace under button-up pastel shirts and business suits.
3. grins at her painted-black toenails when things get too... insipid.
4. reads Poe and prowls derelict, banyan-lined streets post-midnight.
5. lights a candle to stare at contemplatively, every time it rains.
6. definitely listens to The Cure secretly, between presentations and when no one is looking.

Sunday, June 7, 2015

This Is Not A Pipe.

It is when people come to a point where they think they know you, they stop noticing you. When that moment is reached, you could simply keep feeding their illusions and self-serving need to believe that they understand and are in control of much more than reality would have it be. 

It becomes so terribly easy to step behind a curtain of their own making, cast mere shadows on the cloth, and let mere assumptions vivify the act right into real life. The audience will love it so dearly, so completely (for narcissistic love of one's own creation is convenient enough), that every contradictory truth in the field of vision becomes immaterial. 

Surely, evolution has done the world a great disservice. 

Breaking silences and gentler things.

I often wake up wanting nothing more than to strip the world bare. 

Pull little parts off with my own hands, crumble them like clay, observe the texture of every slice, the cross-section of every joint, and somehow come closer to making sense of all these events that are entirely unlikely but painfully predictable, all at the same time. Instead of just watching them unfold before me, just as I imagined them a thousand hours, weeks, or years ago. Just as I could never really believe they would. It's the ultimate existential conflict. Subjective optimism is up against objective reality. The crazy, stupid things we do to keep the little flame of hope alive. 

I'd like to crumble every bit under the tips of my fingers, smudge them with the friction of the ridges that make up my fingerprints, and re-engineer reality to be little less obvious. To be a little more kind.
"If you entreat me with your loveliest lie
I will protest you with my favorite vow.
I would indeed that love were longer-lived,
And vows were not so brittle as they are,
But so it is, and nature has contrived
To struggle on without a break thus far,--
Whether or not we find what we are seeking
Is idle, biologically speaking."

- Edna St. Vincent Millay

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

spin the roulette  love
whatever the odds
let's play this game again
chalk down an ode to the gods
of psychological warfare

Tuesday, June 25, 2013


Chock-full of sentiment is the air. Heavy and opaque, it settles down and crawls near the floor. Forever shifting, never spreading. At least, not until a gust of wind creeps in and whips around the remains of a day or a life strung together like pearls on a painfully delicate gossamer thread. I see more valour in fragility than anything else now; the mere fact of an existence being an affront to probability, odds or fate. There's a fire in me that continues to rise. I stand beneath this dark sky and feel it course through my veins. I stand at the edge, my body steeped in a heady brew otherwise known as thrill, and prepare to take flight. 

I've seen enough change now to know that given enough time, even this world stops disguising its narcissistic need to repeat itself. 

Thursday, May 30, 2013

Appendix A
A list of the fictional characters I have recently been likened to:

1. Xena
2. Irene Adler
3. Donna Pinciotti

Appendix B
A list of the fictional characters that I actually embody:

1. The Incredible Hulk


Close enough.

Sunday, May 19, 2013

Some general and (honestly, rather dull) artless updates.

It's been a good run so far, I suppose. Two years since I escaped the many traps of formal education. Two years since the last time the walls came crashing down. A year and three quarters since the jerk from a metaphorical bungee rope. A year and a half, since control was seized, and things turned around. Eight months since the last remaining brick was tossed away. Seven, since I found something I'd been looking for, far longer than I can bring myself to admit. Two months since I was perched on that tiny, perfect little spot that marks the peak between the juxtaposed slopes of ambition and complacency, where everything was in equilibrium. Balanced, synchronised, and accounted for. It's been a month since I began walking down the wrong side of the mountain, and a week since I decided it was time for change. Again. 

Choices lie ahead of me. Two very good ones, because things work out that well sometimes. So what do I choose? On one hand lies the life of a more-than-well-to-do, stereotypical white-collared corporate monkey; while on the other, there is a world of great possibility, steep and rather trying intellectual challenges, the world to turn into my own quirkily-decorated little oyster, and equal measure of risk that comes along with all of this. Not one to err on the side of caution, I'm having a lot of trouble giving due weightage to both halves of the idea of "should want". Perhaps the decision was made long before the question presented itself. 


In other news, I am deeply concerned about a few facts that seem to have ganged up against me in recent times, also further urging me to "err on the side of caution". The adrenalin junkie in me is at danger of being slaughtered by nothing more than mere intraocular pressure, and a four year old memory of inopportune surgery for retinal detachment. The zest associated with a list featuring the words scuba, sky-diving, roller-coasters, weightlifting, and taekwondo is now accompanied by an unsettling fear of blindness. Adding to the aforesaid, there is a busted knee, the curse of the desk-job(weakened spine), unusually high myopia, and suspected tachycardia. How I wish this body I came with a part-replacement warranty policy. 

Meanwhile, in the last eighteen months or so, I've been making a place for myself in the world (with more success than I had dared to anticipate), moving out of my parent's house, dealing with the extremely painful job of apartment hunting in Gurgaon, living in three different houses, travelling to four new cities, witnessing quaint beachside sunset drum-circles, partying like nobody's business, catching up with friends I hadn't run into in over a decade or so, realising exactly how much our lives and the times change us even if we all started out at the exact same starting line, reading some of the best pieces of literature I've ever laid my hands on, trekking in the hills, and meeting, knowing, hating and liking a few hundred new people. And learning. Learning and experiencing so much in such little time that it blows my mind a little just bit, collating it all together into this modest time-frame. I'm pretty sure that sometime in the past this was exactly the life I had dreamt of. But there's got to be more. 

I want so much more.