Bucket List

Forgiveness. What does that word mean? Does it mean choosing to shrug off the pain of the past? Or the deliberate turning of face, to look into a different direction? Is it the tired sigh of resignation, To make room for the hope of a better future? Or is it the stubborn denial that, what feel like shards in your chest Exist no longer? Is it the sign of a bigger man? Or reconciliation with the fact that your expectations lie shattered, Only to be trampled past and forgot? Is forgiveness, the feeling that seeps in, surreptitiously into your dreams Knowing that you won't allow it in the daylight? Or is it just peace, borne out of habit?

Far too much has been written and said about this film. However, when I finally watched Padmavat today, I was left with the most crushing feeling of oppressive sadness. I actually quite enjoyed the movie. It was interesting, a magnificent spectacle (I've always loved Sanjay Leela Bhansali's opulence), amusing in parts (the insanely funny over dramatization of the headless Rajput warriors swinging their swords), slow in some but largely entertaining. I loved how beautiful Deepika looked with the septum ring, how absolutely gorgeous kaajal on Shahid Kapoor was, how brilliantly Ranveer Singh acted and how ethereally Aditi Rao Hydari had been transformed by the Bhansali hand. What I couldn't accept was the demonization of Muslims and the only explanation I could give myself to make it easier for me to tolerate it, was that it was shown to polarize the audience's opinion. Leading them to think that there was no better option than jauhar in the end, for the women, who we...

If I were to ask you- what does happiness mean to you, what would you say to me? I shall lead the conversation with my take on it. I believe that happiness, as Aristotle says, is not a state of mind. Rather, it is an activity. I think perpetual, omnipresent happiness is a complete lie and totally misleading because it’s simply unrealistic to believe you can be happy 24x7 or even through most of the day. Simply because majority of the activities we are busy filling up our lives with are almost 90% routine and very rarely ecstatic, since there’s nothing exciting about sitting and reading on a laptop for almost 12 hours a day. Yes, it’s fun sometimes. You're learning. And you’re definitely choosing this. But often, we mistake passion with a sense of a 100% reward in the form of immense joy. We often mistakenly believe that even when we’re following our calling, we’re going to have nothing to complain about anymore because it’s what your heart is asking for. What we forget ...

The Bird stepped over its nest, ready to fly, her auburn feathers shining like liquid gold mixed with swirls of rich red. A single sound had not escaped her from her birth to this moment, as she flew in search of something, her soul already knew the destination of.  To the world, the beating of her wings was the only giveaway of her existence. It was the first day of her flight. And she didn't stop till it was almost dusk. She hadn't stopped to eat nor drink, her throat parched but pulsating with the sound of her heartbeat, telling her to not rest till she reached where her being pulled her. The sight of the naked, dark, thorn tree is what stopped her, mid-flight. She perched on a branch, uncaring of the short, sharp thorns, rising out of the branches like a possessive lover, confident of its ownership. She searched with eyes, rich with ebony and astoundingly deep. The attentive survey of her sight only ceased when she saw that one particular thorn- of intimidating length...

I am often angry. I can't point to a trigger for why I am choosing to write this today, except the crushing atmosphere of patriarchy I find myself struggling to breathe in. It's a phenomenon of great occurence- to be uncomfortable when exposed to a hostile environment but accept it as the norm, when you, for your peace of mind, and before you notice, acknowledge the abnormal, by saying "it's just how it is." Well, that's not okay. If this is how it is, it's high time that bloody change. My college has a peculiar policy. Boys and girls are charged the same amount of hostel fee and yet, girls aren't allotted single rooms till their last year in the 5 year programme we are all enrolled in. Whereas boys have the right to, after their first year. I am angry when I hear a sitting Judge of the High Court tell us that this seething issue between the students themselves and against the administration, is actually an exercise in "women learning how to co...

The lonely traveler was trudging up the hill, his breath becoming shallower with every step. He was surprising himself with his body's rebellion against the exertion that was his passion for as long as he could remember. He stopped to breathe in the pristine air of the unadulterated hill-top. His curious eyes, running with naked feet across the vast expanse of the view of undulating mountains, crowned with proud junipers- hungry, as only the starving heart of a poet. His heartbeat spiking, he grinned in exhilaration, just as his gaze was captured by a girl, hardly a day over 12, dressed in red. Her hair was braided through a piece of silver jewellery, cradling her tiny head. Her eyes too honest, her face intensely happy, her small body covered in a too-big kaftan. He called out a question, seeking her name. He received a grin and a movement of her hand, indicating she couldn't speak. He approached her and she stepped towards him warmly. His head bent to capture the sinews ...

The house is empty. You've collected your belongings in the cradle of your arms. They're sparse and choice. You look at the rooms, now filled with a barren bed, with a used coffee mug forgotten by the bedside, on a table that's broken a leg. You wonder when the once warm, yellow walls started peeling off, the shining wood of the cupboard holding all your favourite books came unhinged and you feel the sadness collect in the wrinkles on the corner of your eyes. But before yearning gets the better of you, you turn quickly around and walk away from your beloved room, the wooden floor creaking in complaint, against your brisk stride. You march straight out of that beautiful blue door that you loved to knock on, when you came home, tired but smiling. You walk, your eyes wandering over the curved path of cobblestones, leading to the gate and you slow down. You turn around. You breathe in the familiar shape of that pretty wooden house, which has a broken stained-glass window in ...

The wine bottle was jingling with the sound of laughter, smelled of nostalgia and tasted liquid gold. It danced in the bright eyes of friends, brought together in the worst of nights, uniting over spilled truth and the magic of years that had made them who they are. In the recesses of the mind, there was the sound of clinking plates being washed in a kitchen that held the traces of spices and the whisper of steady hands that had fed them. They looked at each other, all of them, consumed by veritaserum and the taste of love, of bonhomie, of brotherhood. And they grinned. 

The leaves in your lap were once bright green, they're now rust and gold. You keep looking at them, in a mix of disbelief, wonder and the knowledge of the inevitability of age. You trace the spine of the now crinkled paper and impulsively crush it in your palm, just to hear the satisfying chrrr. The deafening sound of a death knell, the final cry of what has been waiting to mingle with the soil, it, rose from.  You dust your palms off and shoot right up, the intense emotion telling you to flee, rising like a cry against sacrilege, in your bones. So you turn around and run. Blind, thoughtless, breathless. You run like your life depends on it. You run like there is no tomorrow. And you don't stop. Not until you collapse, on your knees, the beat of your heart reminding you to feel grateful, to be alive.  You run so far away from the remains of what was once pure life because you know you must wait. For the autumn breeze to turn to cold, to sweep away the shattered bits ...

I have loved the sea for as long as I can remember. There's something about the call of the waves, in its roars and whispers, in its torrid throws and soothing ebbs. The waves, almost speak to me, beckoning me into their embrace, playfully tugging at my feet, tripping me into the water. They remind me of the laughter shared with beautiful friends, the memory of childhood and the love leaking from the cork, capping my heart. They teach me, to sit, facing them and face the fury that is life. To laugh, as the waves hit me straight in the chest because it's only just a game, all of it, at the end of the day. They teach me to be humble and not fight the tide, for only then will I be carried to the shore. They compel me to lie freely, with arms open wide- in sheer abandon or quiet defeat. And wash over me, carrying with them, the dusty remains of bloody cuts and closed wounds. They remind me, that they're endless and eternal. Just like the birdsong in my bursting heart...

The ship sailed through the sky. The clouds were silver and round, the mast was afloat. And suddenly, a shooting star landed on the deck. She walked up to it, picked it up in her palms, her face a pallet of wonder swirled with curiosity. In her hands, the star spoke. "The little birds of the morning keep us shining, night after night The twinkling eyes of a happy life, keep us sparkling bright The wishes of a loving heart, land us in your lap tonight." She closed her eyes in thoughtful prayer, kissed the little ball of fire and flung it into the air. She heard the warmth in the laughter that echoed through the sea of clouds as she went on, to don the Captain's Hat and steered the ship through the darkness with her heart's light, paving the way.

There will be moments in your life when you are faced with the most heart-wrenching of all decisions, you will ever have to make. "There is love in holding on.  And there is love in letting go." My best friend had once said this to me at a time when it made absolutely no sense to the fueled, idealistic and obstinate conviction that defined my being. How do you possibly consider letting go of someone you love? How dare you accept defeat and give up? I will always tell you to try your hardest, to try your best and then try a little more because there is a very important difference, a very stark and pertinent one, between loving someone and living up to that love. And it's absolutely non-negotiable that you do your goddamn all to live up to your commitment. But be graceful enough to recognize that not all have the same courage and strength as you. It's what sets you apart. And you will find what you're looking for. All in good time. All our feelings, all of ...

Run away with me! I have felt this, far too many times for it to be left unsaid. I promise you a life of adventure, limitless fun, dollops of honesty and countless, shimmering moments of passion that will translate into the strings of memories you will be pulled by, the silly puppet you are. So why do you hold back? What keeps you thinking over and over about the little things that won't matter two years from now? Why do you let yourself lie awake, hounded by your worst fears, in a world that only asks you to seize this moment and be truest to it? Why would you waste these precious, irretrievable moments of your life, in pretension? Why would you choose to not let your loved ones know their irreplaceable value in your momentary, fragile lives? Why would you spend your days, counting down to the moment, when you finally fit into the wooden frame you are already conditioning yourself to grow into- leaving behind all your childlike innocence, touching naivete and immense faith ...

They were making castles in sand, enveloped in the heat of summer that bronzed their skin as they went on, oblivious, with their eyes scrunched tight enough to just know where the stray sand, thrown from their tightly clenched fists, would hit the other. The sound of laughter broke the quiet lull of the river as she suddenly jumped up and ran across the banks, unable to dodge the pellets of warm, moist sand that he threw from behind, tumbling into a heap of uncontrollable joy that shook her body and soothed her soul. Covered with the silver grey, her eyes fell upon a seashell, curled into the soft bed of the bank, right next to where her face lay. It was pearly and irresistible, so she picked it up with curious fingers and held it to her ear. It was murmuring softly, above the rush of the waves that it seemed to carry with it, like the yearning of a displaced heart that knows where its home lies. "The sands of time will carry you into a world that will bathe you in magic W...

"You deserve the best, the very best, because you are one of the few people in this lousy world who are honest to themselves and that, is the only thing that really counts."                                                                                                                            -Frida Kahlo I have often wondered what that one inviolate value is, that is indispensable to the people in my life. I think mine is courage. I don't need to think too much about why this means everything to me, simply because if I lost my courage, I'd lose the strength it takes for me to stand, unyielding, by my integrity. My pride follows my strength to remain rooted to my self fa...

You're above the clouds and the flutter of your wings remind you of this gift you have. It breaks the silence as you float through white and savour the blue and twirl just before you dive into the hues of red and gold, left in the set sun's wake. You're glad to be alive. The yellow of the sunrise is igniting the passion of flight in you all over again the next morning and so you begin your frollicking tumble through the cushion of clouds, your mind fueled by the independence of your choice and the conviction of being true to yourself. So it continues. And then, one day, when the typewriter sounds its last full stop, you are struck by the heavy, impenetrable, once comforting, silence, caught up there and no amount of jumping is pushing the curtain of solitude away. So you look around, in a desperate bid to remember why you chose this life and the memory doesn't serve the purpose of its reminder and you flounder. And you are cruising through the skies, yearning to ...

She nudged the huddled mass of human, indistinguishable from the warmth of the blanket he was wrapped in. "Are you alive?" The blanket didn't budge, even as the muffled voice filled her ears in the silence of the dark room, "Depends on how you mean it." "You're breathing, aren't you?" "If that's how you mean living, you don't really need me to answer, do you?" Her brow furrowed, she knelt on the floor hesitantly. "Whatever happened to you?" The blanket fluttered as a curtain would, when the child hiding behind it tried hardest to not move. "Whatever happens to those who live, unafraid." "I don't understand." "You won't. Run along, now." She plonked herself on to the cold floor, surer of her decision than she had been in a very long time. "Why not?" The sigh that answered her question gave away the exhaustion of a defeated, once indomitable soul. "You...

The mirror was shattered because the rays of the sun had pierced it too sharply.The fire burning it apart and the heat too consuming to endure- it broke. The reflections of the falling leaves were disjointed and warped as they fell past and scattered around the shards. She could only see her eye, brimming with tears as she stared confusedly at the piece closest to her feet. She couldn't understand how what was meant to be the source of all life, the driving force of motivation have torn this reflector of truth, shredded it so. She kneeled to try and piece it back together, in desperate denial of reality. The gaps remained. The futility of it crashed around her as the glass stared back, mocking her faith and laughing at her misguided belief that it could still be fixed. She looked away.  The soft brush of a flower that fell and landed right in the centre of the longest shard, drew her gaze. The flower was intact, so was its reflection. So what if it was too broken to proud...

Have you ever had the odd sensation of wanting to laugh and cry in the same breath? Doesn't it completely baffle your mind, that both feelings which tend to be stemming from generally polar events wish to occur at the same time? Do you feel the dark humour or genuine glee and tears of joy or silencing sorrow, battling inwardly, to determine which shall prevail and in the process, letting none escape? It sucks. (*giggles* *feels the urge to cry for giggling at something so stupid when something so profoundly bothersome is in mind*) So. I think I'm a mess of emotions in this moment. I find myself travelling back to the time I wrote my first post. Inspired by a movie that I had the grateful pleasure of watching with a friend, I promised to myself that I will begin this quest to unravel my wound up strings, brush out my dustiest corners and face the frank riddle I am, with a straight spine, unapologetic and admiring of the person I am after I discover her. I was enchanted, ent...

She didn’t want to talk anymore. She had always loved to swear. It brought out the intensity behind every feeling that reverberated through her tiny body and found pleasure in being expelled with the force and anger of a cuss. It helped her get through life because more often than not, it’s all that people deserved to be told. ‘Glorify or vilify them but you can’t ignore them’ was a loose coin rattling inside the tin can that was her head and all she wanted to do was scream.  For, ignore them, she couldn’t. But love them was something she yearned for. Yet to keep herself sane, she tried to calm herself down, relax, tell herself it’s okay but it just wasn’t working anymore. She didn’t know for sure if it was just reality of the world catching up to her or everything in it that cut her to the bone, that affected her so deeply. She just wanted the world to stop existing the way it did and become a good one. She wanted people to be honest, consistent, loyal and reliable. She wa...