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Monday, 16 October 2017


It had started drizzling a while ago. It had been thundering for quite a long time before that. A tiny raindrop was slowly, obliquely, sliding down the window pane of the car. It mimicked the teardrop that was slowly rolling down his cheek. Like the rain, the crying had started a while ago. He too had been thundering for quite a long time before that.

Both, the teardrop and the raindrop, had started rolling downwards slowly but picked up pace as they dropped further down, just like the car which had picked up speed now. When he was furious, he had a propensity for speed. Speed has this strange way of pleasing your soul even in the toughest of times, just like some people in your lives do.

The raindrop, he traced with his finger. The pain, with his mind. As the raindrop rolled down, it increased in volume slightly as it got mixed with the other water droplets present on the pane. As the memories came flooding back to him, the pain increased too, in intensity, as one memory mixed with another. But he drove faster as it seemed to reduce the pain, at least temporarily.

The droplet rolled down and fell out of sight even before he knew it. He could not trace it any more. The teardrop, too, fell off his chin and disappeared into the folds of his shirt. Soon, another raindrop started rolling down the pane, just as another teardrop welled up in his eye and started rolling down his cheek...

Wednesday, 12 July 2017


I wonder if you wonder why I hid behind the shelves
Perhaps just to see you smile,
When you slowly walk down the aisle;
Perhaps just to catch a glimpse,
When you look at those books that you skim;
Perhaps just to say hi,
Or perhaps just to say good bye;
But you know I could say neither...

Perhaps just to stare at your eyes,
Perhaps just to listen to your lies
Because even they seem much better than the truth now.

I wonder why I love you sometimes, I really do;
Perhaps because you laugh that laugh,
Perhaps because you smile that smile,
Or perhaps because I simply want you to be mine?

Perhaps because you asked me why,
Or perhaps I want to hear a lullaby
From you, with my head in your lap;
Or maybe yours in mine,
With our fingers entwined.

Perhaps I want to play with that tress,
Which is so naughty that it keeps falling over, making a mess;
I want to blow at it gently, watching it fly
Tuck it behind your ear,
Hoping it falls back down when I'm somewhere near.

Perhaps because when I close my eyes,
It's only your face that comes to the mind,
I look around, frantically, but I cannot find
You, nor any of your signs.

Perhaps I want to walk that walk,
And want to talk that talk,
Hear you out,
Or 'listen' as you sometimes say.

Perhaps because a day feels like months, 
Or because I want to smell your fragrance,
Exotic, exquisite and sweet;
It's a reason why I'd love to meet

Perhaps because when you talk to that guy,
That's exactly the reason why
You hear me sigh.
Perhaps because I'm possessive,
Or maybe I just don't want to live... anymore.

I wonder what made me think the same about you,
Perhaps I saw it in your eyes,
Or perhaps I interpreted it from your smile;
It's sad to realize
That I was wrong all this while.

I wonder what you'll say when you know that I was crying,
For so long that I thought my lachrymal glands were drying,
Perhaps you'll think that I'm lying?
Or perhaps you'll just keep quiet and walk away,
Like how you always do.

Honestly, no, I'm not fine,
But, I...I keep lying,
Perhaps because I don't want you to know,
Or maybe because I remember what you said,
Word by word, line by line.

I wonder if you wonder why I messaged after all,
Perhaps because I want to read your gibberish
That you type when you are annoyed, at a loss for words;
Letting your fingers rule over the keyboard,
I wish I was the only one who could decode.

Remember when we parted not so long ago
You walked beside the bus and watched me go
I craned my neck and turned and twisted
To catch a last glimpse, no opportunity wasted
You winked at me, to end on a good note
I kept smiling for days after that, you know...

Remember, on the same day, a little while ago
You were seated next to me in that bus, no?
I put my finger in your palm,
And curled your digits around mine, I meant no harm;
I wanted you to never leave, but you did;
I wanted you to stay, but you didn't;
I kept crying for days after that, you know...

Tuesday, 6 June 2017


"She loves me, she loves me not."

Here you are, standing at the bus stand with her. You know you have to tell her sometime. Yet, you can never gather the courage. Ever. Who knows how things will go once she does know? You can never tell.

She starts walking away from you, towards her bus. You look at her receding form with doe-like expectant eyes. You have this feeling that she will listen to your thoughts, just like how you listen to the radio by tuning in. You laugh at your foolishness. You want her to turn back and wave good bye for one last time before leaving. But, that only happens in Bollywood. Nothing like that happens in reality. She will leave you just as unceremoniously as Richard Parker. And you will not be able to do anything about it.

But, hope is a bitch. There is a faint glimmer of hope in a remote corner of your heart. It is like that ray of the sun which penetrates through the dense canopy of a rain forest and kisses the ground. You are so petulant that you refuse to leave unless she turns and waves at you. But she is only sashaying down the road, apparently nonchalant. Or is it your imagination? Does she also feel the same way as you? You don't know. You never will. Yet, you do not abandon hope. Hope is truly a bitch.

With every step that she takes forward, your heart sinks a little. From inside, you die a little. But you still stand your ground as firmly as you had before. You make sure that you keep your eyes wide open and do not blink, lest you miss the moment that you are waiting for so intently, so hopefully, so foolishly...

You look at the chignon at the back of her head. With every step that she takes, it bobs up and down. It is rhythmic. Ethereal. Poetry in motion. You smile as you think about the number of times you must have played with her hair in your dreams. You smile as the memory of you brushing away the strands of her hair from her face and tucking them behind her ear comes back to you. But, dreams are dreams. Do they ever come true?

She is almost there now, near her bus. Soon, she will be on it and off. The joke will be on you. What will you do? Will you wait there all day for her? You shake your head as if that will do away with all the unwanted thoughts ricocheting in your mind right now. It doesn't.

Suddenly, she stops. Your heart skips a beat. You realize you have held your breath. The world comes to a standstill. It is as if the Earth has stopped rotating on its axis. You wait, expectantly. Is she thinking whether to turn or not? Does she even want to turn? Will she turn?

Then, she does it. Slowly, she spins on her heel. You make sure that you don't close your eyes even for a millisecond. This moment is not to be missed. She has turned a hundred and eighty degrees. Her eyes meet yours. You stare at them, transfixed. You want to put your hand up and wave but you realize that it is made of lead. Slowly but surely, she smiles. Her lips curl up in that cute manner that you have always liked. You can swear that you see a sparkle in her beautiful eyes. Somehow, you manage to smile back at her. "Bye", she mouths. "Bye", you reply.

"Cut!", says the director. "Nice shot". But, you realize that you are still standing rooted to the spot and still smiling long after she has gone...

Thursday, 11 May 2017


All he wants is the Red balloon,
He wants it badly, he wants it soon;
It's his even before it actually is,
But, something is definitely amiss.

They always hurt,
But what does he know?
He is just staring at his balloon go...

Oh! There will be other balloons,
Blue, Green and Yellow,
But these don't entice him,
It's only the Red one that makes him mellow.

The balloon has flown off,
Into the vast blue skies,
He turns to have one last look,
And it reflects back in his teary eyes.

There is anguish, there is pain;
Look at his emotions drain,
He stretches his hand,
But his effort to catch the balloon is in vain.

In his heart he still has hope,
That the string of attachment will not become slack,
He looks at the sky longingly,
Waiting for his balloon to come back...

Saturday, 24 January 2015


She is as beautiful as calculus,
Integrating the joy,
Differentiating the pain,
Always limiting it.

She is as beautiful as algebra,
She is constantly variable,
But also is variably constant,
The equation of my heart.

She is as beautiful as geometry,
The line of my life,
The origin of my Cartesian plane:
That dimensionless point.

She is as beautiful as a vector,
With the direction of my life,
Magnitude unknown.

She is as beautiful as infinity,
For she neither has a beginning,
Nor has an end,
And can't even be defined.

She is as unpredictable as probability,
The throw of a die,
Toss of a coin,
A moment there,
The next ...
She disappears into thin air.


She must've come from Mars,
For she's out of this world,
Beyond this planet,
An alien with hazel eyes.

She must've come from Mars,
For she was so pretty,
So beautiful,
That she could never be human.

She must've come from Mars,
For her hazels had superpowers,
That mesmerised me completely,
Got me attracted like a magnet.

She must've come from Mars,
For she was unlike others,
Extra-terrestrially pretty,
She was a Martian beauty.

Who says there's no life on Mars?
Just look at her,
She is Life herself.

She is the beginning,
She is the end,
She is in my dreams,
She is in my head.

She's like a mermaid in water,
A hazel queen on land,
She's as white as snow,
She's a Martian beauty herself.

I love every atom of her,
Every single atom,
For it must be from Mars,
Because she's a Martian beauty herself.

Tuesday, 25 March 2014


For ophthalmologists shall say that,
It is only the colour of your iris,
But only a poet shall tell you this:

That Hazel Pair,
Shines brighter than than Sirius,
Brighter than the brightest,

Brightest of all.

That Hazel Pair,
It entices me

To explore the realms of something,

Unknown to most humans.

That Hazel Pair,
It has a sparkle,
It has a twinkle,
It has its own lustre.

That Hazel Pair,
It is a puzzle,
Yet to be explored,
A treasure,yet to be unearthed.

That Hazel Pair,
It has a depth,
That even the most advanced SONAR,
Wouldn't be able to measure.

That Hazel Pair,
It lures me,
Into a dimension,
Unknown to all others.

That Hazel Pair,
It has an aura of anonymity,
A plethora of satisfaction,

That Hazel Pair,
Stands out from all others,
O!what are they but negligible in front of it.

That Hazel Pair,
It has a uniqueness,
It's own identity,
Unlike any other.

That Hazel Pair,
Its mere presence alone,
Pacifies me,
Quenches my thirst.

That Hazel Pair,
It has a voice,
A voice that nobody else can hear,
But only me.

That Hazel Pair,
When it squints,
Its shallowness,
Is what captivates me.

That Hazel Pair,
It is shallow and deep,
Calm and serene,
A recurring scene.

That Hazel Pair,
It's like the Pied Piper,
Musically mesmerising,
Shrewdly scintillating.

That Hazel Pair,
It's so prepossessing,
That it accentuates your beauty,
And sets the starer on fire.

That Hazel Pair,
Has the power to pause,
The whole wide world,
And send it into a trance.

That Hazel Pair,
Against the backdrop of white,
Looks newly polished,
Looks extra bright.

That Hazel Pair,

It's neither very red,

Nor is it very brown,

It's simply hazel,an amalgam of the two.

That Hazel Pair,
It crinkles when you smile,
But when it floods,
Something's sinisterly wrong.

That Hazel Pair,
Its breathtaking beauty,
Provides panacea,
To all the problems.

That Hazel Pair,
Neither has any beginning,
Nor any end,
For it extends from nullity to the infinite space beyond.

That Hazel Pair,
Has around it a thin haze;
A riddle,a complicated maze,
Making it difficult to avert my gaze.

That Hazel Pair,
It's so far,
Yet,I feel that it's so close,
That I'll extend my hand and 
touch it.
But,before I even try
That Hazel Pair
Dissolves into the night,
Slips through my fingers
And I wake up,
Having a longing...
A desire for
That Hazel Pair,
To visit me again
That very night
And,make my dreams bright.