I woke up and i touched the man's pale jet-lagged skin, the hives and rashes spread unevenly on his body. I chuckled because it felt like i was touching a reptile.

But what did i really see?

I reached over to kiss and there in that moment i was cursed with Shantiniketan's legend of Unrequited Love.

Now, in the forest mornings, my heart reflects a green-yellow
and in the nights, a cobalt-blue.

the unrequited ghost of my love is now among the many spirits in the forest, whispering like the wind into the Poet's ears, who is perhaps still writing somewhere.

One with its trees, One with its soil, embedded inside the very legend.


As i argue/holler/grow defiant of my living, my friends lose their patience over my existential angst. They say, Relax! the burden of the world is not on your shoulders,
I deconstruct, destruct, lose sleep relentlessly.

But almost always remember:

"To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never, to forget." - Arundhati Roy


In her long years of exile, she was like a poet's imagined forest, full/quite/overwhelmed in moonlight. Her longings echoed in her songs and ripened passion and madness in the forest darkness.

When Love invaded and took her away.

Now an average lover, living amidst limits, everyday she searches the insides of her body for a wild-fire.