The Clock on the Wall

There you lie, perched before me and my world. Mounted on the off-white wall, keeping count of time while silently witnessing the intimacies of my life. You saw that huge stack of clothes on my bed, the perpetually cluttered table and the gloom that wouldn’t let me mend any of it. You heard those calls for help to friends and family and the hopeless silence that followed them.

Then the subliminal smiles started while I keyed words into my phone late into the night. You saw my expectant eyes waiting for her texts, didn’t you? The calls, the never ending calls and the subtle prayers on my lips wishing that the call would just go on. You heard them.

The stack of clothes was gone, the dread, the gloom, all had left. Your constant tick-tock had finally brought the good times. Hope you didn’t laugh on me for that first date. Standing before the mirror and trying dozens of clothes. And then calling my friends over to help me figure the perfect dress for the date. In retrospect I looked funny, but it worked.

I know you were amazed when you saw my tidy room, the meticulousness, the fragrances instead of the usual air of despondency. Love does this to you. Hope you didn’t mind our snuggles & giggles and didn’t forget to close your eyes before we crumpled the bed sheet with creases. Hope you didn’t mind me ignoring calls from my friends and family, I had better things to do. Didn’t I?

The cheesy nick names, the mellow whispers & the frantic laughter, you were witness to all our secrets. The hope to be with each other forever, the wish to hold those hands for eternity, the desire to wake up to see her face everyday.

Sunggles and giggles were replaced with sounds squabbles and arguments. The room smelled of broken hopes with a touch of despair. Then one day we were far away, too far to walk back. Hope you didn’t see the tears. Hope you slept while I couldn’t for nights. Hope you didn’t snitch on me to my mom about the empty bottles. The empty bottles kept in hopes to store away my sorrow.

Hope you don’t make fun of me for the calls for help to friends and family and the hopeless silence that follows them. Hope you don’t judge me for this huge stack of clothes on my bed and this cluttered table.




The Mirror

Three hours past midnight, sand under my palms. There is nothing but silence. Every few seconds it’s broken by these waves striking the shore. As far as I can see it’s just us here, me and this Sea. The behemoth on one side and you, the little you, on the other. It humbles you, the vastness, the grandeur. My glass houses of self-importance and ego take a humble hit with every wave washing the shore. The sea is silent, yet it’s making noises. It can’t say a thing, yet I can hear the stories it has in store. If you look, there is nothing but darkness to stare into. But if you feel, there is a mirror in front. I often come here to stare at myself in this mirror.

The mirror tells me things. Things that I know but I don’t know about. Things that I never paused to worry about. Things that I am afraid to hear but still wish to hear.

The Sea is blunt, full of lessons and regrets. Looking into it is like reading my old draft suicide notes, enlightening. Going through them, it’s perplexing how people find surprise mentions on it, how impending death makes one thank and appreciate people who usually seemed to have done no good to you. It teaches you how important are goodbyes.

A wave just gently touched my feet, it’s cold. I see all the friends that just became acquaintances because we stopped talking. Was it because of the their diminishing utility to me or did I just change as a person, no longer in need of them ? How many of those friendships could be saved with a simple hello ? And can’t even keep count of those that vanished into obscurity, into being strangers with familiar faces.

It’s embarrassing to look into the mirror and see myself being angry and annoyed. It’s funny as much as it is embarrassing. I try to reason but in the end I know there was never a reason for my anger. There was always room for patience.

A cold breeze is whisking past me. I can see all the times I believed it was love, but it was just possession. Keeping someone within my control just because I felt like I owned them. And calling it love.

All the times when I could have stepped up and enjoyed the moment. The times when I wanted to be myself, but I was too worried thinking about what would people say. People I had never seen before, people that I was probably never going to see again. I couldn’t be myself. I played it safe, but was it safe?

All the times I faked a smile while I was broken from inside. When there was no hope left but I lied to myself, to give it one more day. And more lies. The times when Mom could see my eyes reeking of sorrow but I preferred to fib out of it.

Who am I? The mess that my room is or the meticulously kept little library in one corner of it. Am I the one who would travel for hours to get her the perfect gift or am I the one who walked away with no second thoughts. Am I the kid who used to find peace in his mother’s lap or the teen rebel who would argue till death for his liberty. I am all them? It never answers my questions, the Sea’s just a patient listener.

I seek answers to questions, I get ruffled when I can’t find them. Even with all its might and chaos in it’s gut, this sea calmly whispers. It tells me that the answers are lying within me, hidden behind the smokescreens of angst, fury, skepticism and despondency. Far from people, from the pollution of light, from the comforts of dwelling, from the constantly on-the-move world we live in, I realise I have been running too fast. Too fast to look back, where my answers wait for me.

With the first rays of crimson sunlight seeping through the horizon, the mirror is getting blurry. It’s bitter, all this reflection into myself but so is beer. I long for more. But the sun has interrupted our conversation. I take the Sea’s leave and promise to meet on some other solitary night.


Stole a page from her Diary

“Dear Diary,

Sleep has been my drug these days. The darkness, the emptiness it brings has me addicted. I can stay up, face this unpleasant reality or just sleep and let silence take over. I can’t help choosing the latter. Every time I stay up I end up having pointless conversations with him in my head. Asking him questions, hoping that he’ll change his answers, he’ll tell me it was all a prank. Mind’s playing tricks on me, projecting moments of dread into my imagination constantly. It’s like it wants me to cry and empty my tear sacs out but they bloody don’t. My hands keep shaking at times, I swear it’s not the cold. We painted our picturesque dreams together, all it took was one moment and the colours were all gone. All that was left were black and white outlines, mocking me in my newfound loneliness.

Friends are trying to help but I can’t figure what they say, it’s just all too numb. They tell me I sit here and stare into nothingness all day. What they don’t know is I am talking, still talking to him. Wishing for the times when one ‘I love you’ would end any fight. Wishing that this is a bad dream and we’ll wake up all happy and together like we have always been. They ask me to keep doing what I love, but at this point of time I just love crying. It’s my last refuge to find solace.

Maybe because it’s my first time? They tell me we all get used to it over time. We keep falling in love, no matter how many times our trust is broken, our spirits shattered or our faith in them taken for granted. We always pick the pieces of what’s broken in us and walk this road called life, looking for someone who wouldn’t break but keep them safe.

I understand that, I really do. But what will make these tears falling on your pages understand? Who will tell them to stop flowing because that’s how the world supposed to be ? Who will tell this heart to calm down, these hands to keep from shaking ?  For once I want to smile and feel like myself again, without this burden of dead dreams and broken trust around my neck chocking me. But that’s a blurry and distant dream right now, so I am going back to my newfound love. Good Night!”



A Moment In The Moonlight

The sombre moonlight is irradiating her face, barely making it visible. Her hair dancing on the whims of the night breeze. Eyes with a brownish hue, through the depth of their vastness are saying things. Things that words can’t contain, things that you only understand but can never articulate. Her smile starts from the corners of her lips and your heart knows it’s its time of weakness. The smile runs and blossoms in a moment, taking your heart for a run full of palpitations. A gush of blood has risen up in your streams, you can’t hear the rattle of crickets anymore. Even with all your might you can only muster to hold her hand and pray. Pray that the moon remains perched, guarding both of you in this murky night. That the wind wouldn’t stop playing with heavenly locks of her hair. That these stars would keep twinkling, as if applauding her grandeur. That time would stay still for a while so you seize this moment, before you run out of time.img_6846

Hey! Can we talk?

As a kid I yearned for people to talk to me. Every night I wished for a friend who would just talk, listen to how my day went. I was that weird kid in school. Had big hopes about growing up. Thought things would change, I would grow into a normal man who would have company. A man who would not spend nights sobbing into his pillow and seek answers that were never coming.

Now things are better. Wouldn’t call it normal, but at least they talk. And they talk a lot. I mean I didn’t change much, just crafted this wooden table. When they wake up from anesthesia I just tell them that their hands are tied because that’s how the rules of this game are. You can’t really blame me, I didn’t get my fair share of games as a kid, Did I?

Now they have to keep talking, like anything and everything they can to talk about. Usually they try to convince me how we should stop this game and how they are gonna die. It’s lovely having some chattering company I swear. I never interrupt them, see I am very serious about the rules. If I say a thing they would stop talking. So I let them speak for hours and hours. Until their voice is gone or they stop for a pause hoping that I would be lenient with the rules. But they always end the game with a loud shriek, every one of them. Sorry, Did I tell you the guillotine drops when it can’t detect speech?

My Personal Hell

I love my house. The curtains aren’t to my liking but I am still glad the paint on walls hasn’t changed. They have moved my favorite reclining chair to the basement and I am sitting here on this bean bag that my daughter loves. But I still love them, just can’t express.

10 years since our marriage, and she hasn’t aged at all. You know the kind of love they show in the movies? Yes, totally that, it was magical when we first met and it’s still magical everytime I see her. She’s seeing Mat these days. Reading her favourite magazine, cross-legged, she’s waiting for him to ring the bell. I can read minds, I swear.

Mat seemed like a nice guy when I first saw him. Honestly, he was. I was happy someone was taking my place in her life. He gave time to my daughter and seemed to genuinely care for her like a father should. And now? You know it. He ‘was’ the nice guy next door.

Me? I just died 5 years ago. They said I am going to hell. I knew. And then they sent me here, at my home. To roam and watch around. Can’t touch a thing, can’t say a thing. Just glide and watch. I was still figuring out what kind of hell is this? And then one day I realised I could sense impending danger to my family.

Cocaine has got better of him and his finances. Mat’s here, walked into our driveway with a shiny knife. She’s here waiting for him to ring the bell. And I am here, helpless, condemned to watch my family die in my personal hell.personal-hell1.jpg

Confessions of an Addict

Kindly Note- This is just a sketch I wrote from a particular perspective. This is not my personal story. Purely fictional. Just a clarification, because many friends felt this was real and were concerned. Cheeeel. k?

“It’s not like I am  not aware. What’s that term we use for being aware of stuff… Man I am losing my mind, it’s a very basic term. Yes, so where was I? umm, yes, the aware thing. I know it. I wake up with it, I sleep with it. I know all I am doing is wasting my time, I mean, I had a good brain they said. Could have been a scientist or some shit. Yes! I remember. Haha I still have some memory left. The term is ‘consciousness’. Like, I am conscious. I am totally aware of my shortcomings. I know I am ruining my life by just sitting over here, pushing keys on this damn keyboard, talking random things to random people I am never gonna see. And when I am not doing that, I am busy playing World of Warcraft. I know it all.

You know, I had friends. Like, real ones. We used to play outside when we were younger. They really cared. Sometimes they call, to see if I am alive. Or maybe they share my hope. Hope of getting outside this cycle I am in. You ever saw a Hamster wheel? That damn Hamster keeps running, the wheel moves but it’s just there. Is that hamster being playful or just too hopeful? I am a Hamster.

Sometimes I try to beat these demons in me. I go out, sit in parks, try to socialize. But you know, who wants to talk to a fatload of a person who can barely mumble out words from his mouth. Carrying on normal day to day tasks have become my towering achievements. Bathing once a day, waking up early, remembering birthdays of people close to me. These have become my achievements if some days I manage to pull them off. I woke up early today, felt so good. I mean, not physically, my eyes still burn. But mentally, it’s like I had control of my life for that particular moment I forced myself to wake up.

I think of rehab at times. Telling your friends that they need help is easy. Telling it to yourself is tough. You are the problem. You are suggesting a solution. No one accepts being the problem. Do they? It just doesn’t work out. Some day I wish I will be that kid I once was. Reading books, making sand castles with friends, cycling to new adventures. One day I will get over this phase, I will look back and smile and congratulate myself for all the hope I had. I will call my friends who cared and thank them for being there even when I wasn’t. I am already crying now. I am just choked. These dreams. All they need is little changes in me and yet they are so far. These little changes are too far, I have tried. I have tried to change and then like a rubber band my life snaps. And then I am back to the same life, same cycle. Fuck it I am going back online.”