The Canvas.

The sky lay out like an untouched ocean with clouds floating like lotuses of a moonlit pond. He craned his neck to see the Sun dive into the heaven’s oceans; diving into unknown depths; to rise from another ocean. There were some teasers here and there, like the pathway of an invisible diver, shining a torch with yellow light onto the cotton candy above him. He was reminded of the cotton candy delights he’d savor while the grass tickled his crossed legs and the sun glittered his back with diamonds in the July fairs.

But wait, there’s more!


Love. Dreams. Hope. Failure. Adventure. Expectations. Reality.

Just the usual life and all that jazz.

I believe everyone experiences life as it goes. It’s an experience on the go. A mystery. An adventure. It’s about expecting the unexpected,  hoping for the best, embracing the falls and getting up. It’s about living it to the fullest; to the best.

But what’s best according to you?

You know, I think we’re all a symphony of our experiences. But, I also think we shape our experiences. And that it talks alot about us. About outlooks. About dreams. About the falls. But, do you know the best part about it? It’s also about getting up again. About living life in the best way possible; be it in the best of times or worst. It’s about doing the best in this one ultimate sojourn.

It’s about connecting. With us. With life.

So why not connect on grounds of hopes? Of dreams? On the grounds of bests?  Heart to heart. Life to life.

The Corner In Our Circle of Life.

 The horizon had burst into an infinity today. An infinity of infinites. Infinite shades. Infinite emotions. He tried ignoring the waves tickling his feet and looked at the horizon; drowning the already sinking Sun in his crystalline blue eyes that looked like the burning skies. Or perhaps his burning heart. His heart…Breathing in a deep whiff of salts, his eyes reflecting darkness, he placed his right palm over his heart, feeling. Feeling his heart dance to the rhythm of the breeze. And the cold metal of his watch that filled him with warmth and shudders altogether. 

The Battle.

The waves kissed my feet. The sun’s youth painted my face red. Those sandy feet, those sand castles, somehow I could find their laughter afloat the sea, hear them splash water as the waves slashed the rocks ashore, feel the redness of their faces as the sun yawned and spilled the world with light. My dark world with light. Shedding light on that shelf of memories. It’s almost as though I could hear him call out, “Dad! Would you look at all these shells I collected?” or how he’d start building another sand castle as one got drowned by the enemy, by the Sea. How he’d race with me across the shores, get his tiny feet all sandy, his bright face ablaze, that twinkle in his eyes. That look of extreme happiness. Just one visit and they all come gushing back to me. Like how waves keep coming back to the shores. Like how you’d always find the sun smiling back at you every morning. All in one flash. Making me feel memory’s warmth as the cold wind brushed my face.


Continue reading…

Where the Dreams are Astray.

Its darkness engulfs me into a world of nightmares while the light of its lamps leads me to dreams. Its silence makes me ponder while its ticks leave me uncertain. As I watch its pride mesmerized, I go back in time, lost in thoughts. Lost in doubts. The full moon night, silent and strong, brings together my joys and my fears. Paints a canvas with hopes and doubts. In this lone and silent night, I am left with nothing but my various selves, stars to dream far and the moon to think big. To await. A brighter future. A future filled with colours from the pallet of dawn and twilight itself. A future where your dreams are picked from the dark starry nights to come alive.

The Glass House.

She walked into the metro, exhausted after those eight hours of intense mind labor. Her legs were being butchered by her heels of 3 and, her bag seemed to drag her shoulders down 100 kg, when all it had was her house keys, iPad , earphones, purse and the usual; all in the name of the appropriate  office look. Just another half an hour more and she’d be in her PJs, crawled up like a cat on the sofa sipping away her kadhak adhrakh wali chai. Just the mere thought of it sent a soothing  sensation down her spine leaving her with goosebumps of a sweet dream. But it was interrupted with the heavy push of the man standing in-front of her.


Peak hours. Just another 20 minutes.

Another push.

She stepped back slightly.

Another 10 more minutes.

Another push. A touch inappropriate. Her shock was dripping with disgust at this man’s audacity as she confronted him. Only to get the foul  taste of his shamelessness as he argued upon his innocence. 

Peeved as she saw a few craning necks, she was about to say something more when she felt someone’s hand clasp her shoulders lightly.

“Leave it. There’s no point of it. We’ve almost reached our stop.”

And the doors opened.


Go on. Do you think could face the reality? Perhaps even your reality? ‘Cause that was just a glimpse.

Humanity Strips

Love, Life and Whatever

“War is what happens when language fails.”   –    Margaret Atwood

Humanity Strips


Children of nine and ten
Tender and scared
Frozen in fear
Blood smear.
Weeping anxiously
Terror stricken tear.
The gory witnesses,
With blank stare.
The illusive line between
Life and death,
Promises and despair
Swings unaware.
Is that fair!

They say
everything is fair
In love and war.
We are fallen messiahs
In a mission
To salvage and devour.

Women of twenty and thirty
That look in their eyes
Infused with dread and horror.
Grieving mother
Mourning wife
Distraught sister
No words of assurance
can fill their
loss or impair.
Broken heart
Amidst those wasted prayer.
Is that fair!

Men of thirty and forty
Lost limbs
Numb consciousness
Damaged spirit
Feeding on abjectness.
Hopes shattered
Too hapless to dare
Wounded morale
Beyond repair.
Is that fair!

They say
everything is fair
In love and war.

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A Reconnaissance in Rhetorical