Bucket List

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.