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.”


Laying under these covers, you by my side, I wonder how you do it. How we end up entangling ourselves to extreme proximities and yet you are devoid of any shred of feelings. Is this what is like to live without a heart? Do you ever feel the void like I do, after you leave every morning? I find myself feeling like this is a business deal. You get what you want and I get to fuck the love of my life. What more should I expect from my life. But ask me. Ask me some day and I will tell you. What is like to being close and yet being so far. The pleasure of you being inside me, laid to death with the coldness of your emotionless face. I have you everyday, in hope I will have you one day.

Weren’t you the charmer from the start. We both knew all we wanted was to end up in a bed. Shushing our carnal urges there and moving on. What I didn’t, was that I will be stuck in this cycle of wanting you as a whole or nothing but still not willing to leave the part I have. Are we even friends? Or just beneficiaries of lust. It was great until feelings crept in, until the day I wished that you were mine.

Love stories and those overtly passionate lovers look foolish. You hear about all those people who did stupid stuff for their love. Like hanging themselves, getting stupid tattoos or even blowing their brains out with a gun. But once you are in this ditch yourself, in a corner of your mind you know love is taking control, making you do all sorts of stuff you never wanted to. Is it like God loves playing around with people’s minds with this feeling called love? One moment and this Chemical imbalance in your brain leaves you thinking about that one person all the time. Ruining every moment you could have spent peacefully without thinking about them.

Remember when we used to talk? When we were friends and not just silent fuck dolls. With a lighted cigarette on my lips I often ply the streets figuring out what happened to the charm of this city. This city, all welcoming and warm from outside. Came a little closer and saw how cold it was. Neighbours barely knowing each other. You, are like the city took a human form.

Never grew up. Still having outrageous fantasies like I am 6 years old. Sitting here in my gloom and wishing that someday you will be on top of me, bring your chiseled chin closer to my cheeks, brushing it with your beard and whisper “I loved you all along. Have always done, will always do”. And then we will kiss passionately, like lovers do.




Dreams, at least one place where things were how he wished them to be. Ajju was fascinated by dreams, he wished that the time he was awake was a long dream, and his dreams, reality.

His mother ploughed her hands into his hair, “Wake up Ajju, It’s already too late for school.” Who would choose a harsh reality over a pleasant dream? Unwilling to come out of his fantasy world, Ajju winced and turned to the other side. After 5 minutes of jostling, the mother won, as all mothers do.

With his eyelids still trying to open completely under the burden of worldly reality, he brushed his teeth. He was worried about his milk-teeth falling, what if they never grew back? He was terrified at the thought of looking like his grandpa, if he didn’t grow his teeth back. Listening to the usual edifications on waking up early and being an ideal boy from his mother, he proceeded to take a bath.

He gobbled up on a roll of parantha stuffed with vegetables, while his mother dressed him up for school. She parted his hair into two clear halves, ever so meticulously. He detested that ‘nice boy’ look with great passion, but he loved the satisfaction on his mother’s face after she was finished doing it more. Dressed in emerald green half pants, a white shirt and shining black shoes of which the laces were still being tied by his mother, Ajju was all set to leave.

His mother kissed his forehead and ceremoniously enquired if he had taken all his books and stationary with him. He hugged his mother while responding with the usual ‘yes’ and walked out. He loved school, unlike most children he knew. He loved learning, playing with classmates, opening his tiffin box & munching from it and listening to the intriguing stories his teachers would tell. He reached the gates of his school and stepped in, in anticipation of another amazing day.

His eyes were still bulky, he was just woken up by the cacophony of steel plates and tumblers being thrown at him. “Do I pay you to sleep? You little bastard!” said the usual voice, “Clean them right now and be quick. I find one more plate you did not clean properly, I am beating the shit out of you.” he added angrily.

He wasn’t surprised by the Dhaba ownder’s words, just shattered. The plates were washed, with a mixture of cheap soap and his tears, while he wished that he could live on forever in that recurring dream, the distant dream. Dreams, at least that one place where things were how he wished them to be.