Friday, March 15, 2013

Bright Night

Happy faces speak in masked words 
Screams of agonizing laughter 
Dark eyes dripping with the misty past 
Every clink an echo of fire and smoke 
Every glint a festival of mourning 
Disguised slaves perform their motions to the music of the machine 
Scratching backs till there's nothing but bone 

We own nothing. 
It owns us. 

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

A Toast...

Here's a toast...

To the good times
and the bad,
To the places we went,
And the places we didn't
To the drinks we spilled,
made, and stole
To the people we lost ( Literally, and figuratively)
To games we played,
and Won.
To the ghosts we didn't see
To the pictures we clicked,
To the voice-notes we hid,
To the endless reasons we never needed to laugh
To the sneaking...
In, out and around
To the schemes that worked
To the plans that failed
To the unplanned epicness
To the spots we discovered
To the spots we forgot
To the meaningless conversations that meant the most

To the "Night-Hunters"

To my 2 favourite ladies...
Namrata Kadam and Ridhi-haha Sharma...

Tuesday, August 18, 2009


And a world existed beneath that placid lake, a world nobody knew of.
Dark, as the very depths of hell.
Violence, that betrayed violence itself.
It frightened her, to venture there, close as it was to her.
Night after night she sat, desperate for a cure.
But there came none, willing to enter.
None - willing to brave the sorrow.
None - who even knew.

For there was none
Who took the trouble;

The trouble to know her at all.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

A (fond?) farewell...

So I sit here in my room (Funny how all my entries start that way, eh?), with only my laptop for company, and a constant chain of ponderings running through my idle mind. The surprise is that, despite the optimism that comes to me naturally, I can think of nothing, but everything I don’t have.

I’ve spent majority of the last year, getting used to my newfound freedom, and in spite of my fierce independence, I almost resent it. My first year at university is coming to an end, and I think back over the last 9 months, weighing my gains and my losses.

My losses, although minimal to the strange eye, have been magnanimous. I have no dearth of material pleasures, never have. Yet life has never seemed quite as empty as it has in this past year.

I lost friends – not literally – rather, the delusions I’d so carefully built up around the concept, and hence, gained reality, perhaps?

I gained a sense of self worth, as strong as it has ever been – yet lost my confidence in my own choices, due to a lack of nothing more than respectable validation.

I had time on my hands, as much as anyone would ever wish for – and I used most of it constructively, in a constant endeavour to improve upon who I am. Perfection, I want not, for such a thing does not exist. I only wish to be the best I can be.

In the process, I lost all sense of belonging, anywhere.

I gained the ability to survive on my own – and I lost the capability to depend, on anything, or anyone. Even the night, my sole stable companion, grows shorter day by day.

I gained the ability to think for myself – while simultaneously losing the chance to share those revelations.

I read, watched and heard things that brought me inexpressible joy – yet in the riddance of my delusions, lost the pleasure of being able to share those with someone who would appreciate them.

I gained the opportunity to live life to its fullest extent – and I lost it, for I have yet to learn how to do so alone.

Once stripped of my childish fantasies (as some would call them), I gained some perspective – and lost hope.


I sat here, imprisoned in these 4 walls, living vicariously through the grandeur of great lives – lives well spent, lives lived. And I tried, oh I tried, to find a way to walk in those huge footsteps.

I might have succeeded, I might not have. I know not, and perhaps it is for the better.

I achieved some things – they might not be great – but the momentary joy they brought me was invaluable.

I also went down paths I’m not proud of – paths that would break the hearts of those few who still care – and for that I apologise. I only hope to be given a second chance, and I promise I shall try and do better.

I watched some beautiful movies – and I revelled in the endings – happy and tragic, likewise – with a dream of attaining either.

I gained the ability to laugh, to cry, to sing, like no one is watching – for no one was – I gained the courage to be myself again.

Yet there followed the insecurity of what someone would say if they were watching.

I gained individuality – and pride at being my own person – at the cost of being incomprehensible to most around me.

I won some, and I lost some. And I learned, for myself, the essence behind these wise words – “It’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game.”

A wise man (The wisest I know) has repeatedly told me – It’s lonely at the top.

And I know, all too well, what he meant.

For the fleeting moments of joy I had, I am thankful – to myself – for I can safely say they were my own doing.

For my innumerable moments of weakness and despondency – I apologise – to the person I am, to the person I aspire to be, and to my family.

To describe this last year, I could use any number of adjectives, both negative and positive, and they would all be true.

I end this piece with the very little shred of hope I have left – hope that the next year shall see a trifle more joy, a trifle less despondency.

Hope that I will be able to seek solace in the company of a human being, rather than facebook.

Hope that I won’t lose the ability to hope.



Wednesday, May 13, 2009


Expressing to morons is like emotional liposuction - The 'Easy' way out.
                                                                                                    - Varnika Kundu

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Mon ami.....

Three past the bewitching hour,

And the time is come, for all,

That is mine.


The tender zephyr,

That dandles my hair.


The gentle cream of that distant orb –

That oldest of my loves, whose gaze is a ceaseless armour,

Upon my timid soul.


The tiny beads of white flames,

That shower upon me the hushed luminosity of their adoration –

An urgent beckoning.


That ebon veil, with folds of smoky grey -

Ushers in an eternity’s worth of camaraderie.


I step outside my house,

And into my home.


The quietude – a reprise of the womb whence I sprung -  

A sober whisper of reassurance.


Three past the bewitching hour,


Mon ami est là.










Monday, April 27, 2009

The House with Nobody in it - Joyce Kilmer

Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it. 

I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;
That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.
I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do;
For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two. 

This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass,
And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.
It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied;
But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside. 

If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid
I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.
I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be
And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free. 

Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door,
Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.
But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone
For the lack of something within it that it has never known. 

But a house that has done what a house should do,
a house that has sheltered life,
That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,
A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up his stumbling feet,
Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet. 

So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,
Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,
For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.

Ode on Solitude

Oh the sweet irony that is life..........

How happy he, who free from care 
The rage of courts, and noise of towns; 
Contented breathes his native air, 
In his own grounds. 

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 
Whose flocks supply him with attire, 
Whose trees in summer yield him shade, 
In winter fire. 

Blest! who can unconcern'dly find 
Hours, days, and years slide swift away, 
In health of body, peace of mind, 
Quiet by day, 

Sound sleep by night; study and ease 
Together mix'd; sweet recreation, 
And innocence, which most does please, 
With meditation. 

Thus let me live, unheard, unknown; 
Thus unlamented let me die; 
Steal from the world, and not a stone 
Tell where I lie.

Alexander Pope

Monday, April 13, 2009


“There's no reality except the one contained within us. That's why so many people live an unreal life. They take images outside them for reality and never allow the world within them to assert itself.”
- Herman Hesse

Sunday, April 12, 2009


I drank in the warmth of his embrace.

The smouldering sun smiled upon us with all of its affection.

I drew in a long, deep breath- the gasp of one who has too long been deprived of her air.

The rich dust mingled with the dark smoke, with an inkling of the scent from a public toilet.

My feet caressed the searing gravel, that once was an obscure fact.

My ears witnessed a kaleidoscope of sounds- Oh! The sweetest that ever were heard; the brawling tramps, the rickety scooters, the constant vendor babble, the ceaseless honking.

I opened my eyes to a life no other peoples possessed.

He smiled, and a tear abandoned my eyelash.

I was home.