A Liar's Guide to the Dreams..

In the dead of the night, the dreams come in one by one. They cling to you with soft acceptance, and they know it all..

These are the dreams which leave a note of remembrance. They cling to our tongues like a bittersweet delight.

They feel familiar, though their flavour melts in the mouth... and taste distinctly unusual.


April 05, 2014

The stairs of my house are now studded with memories and visions and dreams.

March 26, 2014

This is nice.

When you sit silently beside me, and the tension stretches like thick, stringy taffy.

This is nice. 

January 15, 2014

The Second Wave...

There are those times when you are wading in chest deep water and the first wave hits you on the face, because you forget to duck or jump. Within a few seconds, even before you have time to recover, the second one hits you. And you are thrown back.

Sometimes, we hurt each other, I go first, you follow. Or you go first, I follow. In short, we pierce each other's skin wherever possible.

Not that we are cruel people. No, no, no. We aren't cruel to others.

We are only cruel to the other.

I sing silently when you curse beneath your breath.

You laugh delightedly when I squirm.

And then you tell me tales of your dreams and I am mesmerized by them.

And I tell you... nothing.

I withdraw and run.

It's... appropriate.

And now there is silence between us. Not peace. Just this uncomfortable silence which threatens to eat us up whole.

And still I stare at the phone.

October 15, 2013

I'm not going away...

Not really. In fact, I am right here.

I am just giving you the time to learn to love me. As I love you.


July 25, 2013

This post is a combination of a few things. 


This poem.

Nostalgia.

Also, hope maybe.

I sometimes treat you, blog, as the dump. I rage, cry, shed tears, scream, laugh, double over, shake, in short, create all the drama I can possibly create, here. It is something I have been born to do, and I will keep on doing it all my life. I am nothing but a channel sometimes, and sometimes I must be strong and defend the gates.

All parts of me.

But who am I, really? 

I still am waiting for something. It is almost like I need a catalyst which is going to give me what I am looking for - However, I still do not know. The spiritual barrier that is standing between me and that other part of me is presently a threat. 

I must cross that.

March 22, 2013

I wonder...

Do I really write here because I want it to be read? I don't know.

I really don't know anymore.

It started off so long ago, and my entries are half-forgotten... imbecile, unfeeling, superficial little notes to delineate my existence, when that same existence is no longer my concern anymore. I live, still, from one moment to another. Sometimes, an odd refrain returns from a favorite Kishore Kumar song, a cheerful little song which no one but the man who sung it understood how painful, how sad, yet how true every word was.

manzil pe meri nazar
main duniya se bekhabar
beeti baaton pe dhool udata chala

Melancholia. This is perhaps one of those rare moments of maudlin when all I want to do is reach out of my shell and call out, scream out and yell that I am alive. Despite the times when I have been trampled, hurt, shamed, and worse, ignored and belittled, I have lived till now. Till today.

And I am not ashamed of even one single moment of my existence. I have lived, loved, hurt and been hurt.

But I feel that this world is closing around me. As days go by, I find myself retreating behind a cheerful mask, a face that is frozen in its own morbid clownish grin, hiding thousands of days' worth grief, anger, pain and incoherence. I trip around life with all the appearance of a cheerful, headless chicken, and I feel empty inside. As if all that I am is wrung out of me, and poured out somewhere, and I am desperately trying to look for it, from one corner of my existence to another, and failing miserably. I cannot find it.

I hate that. I hate that.