21/apology to everyone, ever

I’m sorry if I’m hard to handle. I’m sorry if you thought you were getting to know a different person, one who wasn’t so anxious or worried, one who behaved like this only sometimes, only in a bid to be endearing-

Sorry if you thought this was an play I was putting on; Sorry if you thought I was just another girl acting like she needed a saviour, but that was never my intention.

The truth is some days every bone in my body aches and creaks like a house lived in too long, and some days I can almost see myself being stuck in this town for another fifteen years and not changing at all, but instead having my personality preserved in stone; I’m not sure what to do.

I’m just not that glad to be alive in this body, not that glad to be alive at this time, in this place, around these people; I’m slowly dissolving. So I’m sorry if this is not what you signed up for, sorry if you were expecting a better deal, because so was I.

And that’s why I’m apologising, because I understand the disappointment you carry; I’ve been carrying it my whole life. Now, I’m just ready to be a different version of myself.



​When I’m around you, I want to speak in pauses. Mostly because I want to emphasize how the world seems to stop tilting, or falling, or whatever you want to imagine it does when I see you. I mean, when I’m around you, all I can do is hear your voice.

I know, I know, it sounds crazy. But it’s the truth. It’s like for a second, my world shrinks till it contains just you, smiling at me. 

And I know, every time you look at me means nothing now, and everytime you talk to me means nothing now, but I wish it did. 

I just wish I could travel back to the past. I wish we could be on the same page, on the same line, on the same book.

But you haven’t read a book for four years, and I can’t blame you. I wouldn’t do something that reminded me of me either, but I just wish you did.

I wish you did.


​The night sky seems to almost fold in on itself till it bleeds hue’s so dark they contain every colour,

and as I sit and stare at this messy stain of a sky, it nearly seems to acknowledge my presence by showering me with droplets of rain.

I never thought I would be here, sitting in the middle of this withered garden, sitting and watching the sky bleed as it whimpers at me, as it makes me complicit in its dark thoughts; I feel so small. 

Who am I compared to the world around me? Who am I to even be compared?

So instead of trying to wrap my head around how little I truly matter,or trying to understand how large everything around me is, I just sit.

I sit, and absorb the air like its something I’ve never felt before, like the world isn’t the same one I shrink from every single day- I guess that’s one way to look at the night sky.

Like at night our world slowly shrinks till it just contains us, like at night, everything is magical and every raindrop that hits our face isn’t just normal, it’s an occurrence. 

It’s a whisper. It’s a battlecry of vulnerability.

So as I sit there, I don’t do anything.

I just bask in the strangeness of the night, I just bask as the sky  weeps around me- I just sit.

I just sit. 

One//on blaming yourself.

​The thing about blame is that it’s insidious. It snakes through your body and buries itself in your bones till every step you take is heavier-filled with rage and bitterness. You arm yourself with self righteousness and grief till you’re impenetrable; a shadow of the person you once were, consumed by the flames of your supposedly just accusation.

The thing about blaming yourself is that it’s worse. You can’t vow to take revenge or bloat with self righteousness. Instead, there’s a quiet hatred for yourself enveloping your body till you can barely breathe. 

And honestly, it doesn’t help. You can hate yourself till Kingdom come, and you can weigh yourself down with guilt, but it won’t help. You’ll never feel better about it. You’ll be filled with self reproach and it’ll just be a shadow following you around, till you’re a shell of the person you once were.

That’s why it’s not worth it. It’s been three years of beating myself up over something I wouldn’t have been able to control, and every day was a battle, till it wasn’t and slowly it faded to once a week, and then once a month, till the present where it’s just something that hits me every now and then.

And everytime it does, I just tell myself it wasn’t my fault, that I couldn’t have done anything, that it would’ve happened regardless of my actions. At first this didn’t help at all, but little by little you understand, and you agree, and you imbibe what you’ve been trying to tell yourself till you reach a point where you can look at yourself and not cringe. 

I’m not sure I’m there yet. But my point is, there is an end. There is a point where you make peace with whatever it is you blame yourself for. There is a point where you realise your limitation and you realise you can’t change the past. This is when you’ll be able to accept yourself. And it might sound cliché, but it’s true. It has to be.

Indian Politics/Roads

Indian politics have recently been reminding me of Indian roads. Every five years, a new Prime Minister is chosen- just like how extremely rarely, the Municipal Corporations in slumber wake up and actually re-tar the roads. However, just like how politics get increasingly murkier throughout the five year term, so do roads. As the year goes by and the public waits for their roads to tared, the rains, digging and a myriad of other problems surface, leaving everyone to use paths which are more craters than roads, until someone wades in with a temporary fix. By the time someone decides to actually fix the road (or, by the time the next Prime Minister must be chosen), the road is no longer a road, but a dirt track and the public have long given up on anyone ever creating good roads (or creating corruption free administration). Yes, Indian politics remind me of Indian roads, as the common man’s faith in both functioning well is extremely fragile.