My mind bends like a bow; my heart feels heavier and larger.
My body feels warm, my breath unsteady.
All the nice things taste placid…all placids taste right….
Its isn’t depressing, it doesn’t make me any happier either...
It just lingers on and on… unstoppable!
And that’s the worst part.


The marvels of existence are hidden in inconspicuous details, its only a matter of time when we see them and if we choose to see them. Who knew where my salvation lies…


You told me you played soccer. Could eat two plates of Kobe sizzlars all by yourself. Were scared of horror films, threw stones from your second storey window at people walking down the street, the street dogs alike. Hated gooseflesh on your skin. Liked poetry and women with round bottoms. Found books boring and mushrooms gave you rashes. Liked the smell of the sea and a lot of chilli in your food.

P.S: I tricked you into eating mushrooms once, in the dumplings that my mother served. I hoped you would catch an allergy and a disease and die of it eventually. And I never had to see you again…


when love was love.. and the ones who trode in... fools!..it was then you told me for the first time..and i have been trying to understand ever since.

now wen we have outlived our lives...sailed away with the tides of time... i have been thinking of it again...as you bring it up again... in disquise of a casual comment.

but dear friend....

it is unscrutable. i can feel it with my heart and soul...but never really understand...


I don’t know whether it is pathological or any other kind that I am not aware of… or maybe just a habit in itself…as involuntary and unreasonable as it is meant to be. But my ‘habitual’ act of scribbling in my favourite Ms Word sometimes gets me thinking… is it a talent, an avocation or a dependency?

When I started writing for the first time rather consciously made an effort to write I believed that I had things to say…opinions to state and quite a hand at words to do so… I intended to display. I intended to outshine and show that I had a talent.
I guess we all have this thing about being special… and it cannot be underestimated by being called a wish…its more of a need which mostly becomes an obsession.

But as the times changed… life changed and migration happened. The experiences that I went through, the feelings that I encountered made me see myself in a way I cannot possibly imagine I could have. And it continues to change everyday.

Of all things great and small, I realised that writing had meant a lot more than I thought it did. It came with much simplicity and a lot of ease. It has neither a head nor any hands or feet and most of all was without an agenda. It had no lands to conquer or hearts to win. It is about many things and many people but has got nothing to do with any one else. It isn’t a thing to be bartered or a traded. It isn’t a weapon or a tool.

It is personal and intimate. More for me than any one else.

My true companion and perhaps the only one…