Tu me manques💖

“I miss you” she uttered in a muffled voice. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she hugged her best friend. Amaira realized, distances were difficult to handle. Amaira and Ritika were childhood best friends, their play time was usually occupied with Amaira posing in her mamma’s heels and Ritika capturing Amaira’s innocent dreams to become a model in her cardboard camera. Amaira used to tuck a pillow cover over her head and act like a princess or a bride, and Ritika as
her bridesmaid. With an imaginary groom, together they enacted their wedding.
As they moved to their teenage, the cardboard camera was replaced with a ‘handycam’
and Amaira’s childhood fantasy of becoming a model was taking a serious turn to become her only passion. Whereas, Ritika took up to a multitude of hobbies. Sometimes she was the head-cook in her kitchen, and Amaira her associate-chef.
Other times you would find them both sitting at table and bringing their imagination to life on a canvas. Sleepovers at Amaira’s place were dutifully designed leading to a full-fledged make up session, forcing Ritika to color her face followed by an hour or two of selfie taking sessions. Whereas sleepovers at Ritika’s place were packed with binge-watching of her favorite shows, which Amaira had no interest in, but they both took joy in doing it for the other.

From sharing their candies as toddlers, to sharing their first break up, somewhere they grew up. Together, as an important part of each
other. They never imagined a world where distances would creep in, be it
physical or emotional. They were each other’s die-hard fans, worst critics,
shoulder in times of despair and a strict judge when needed. Here they stood today, singing a farewell to each other, filled with unspoken emotions, unsaid
promises, and a sisterly love that will never wither. Growing up had parted
their ways, where Ritika moved out of the city for her new job and Amaira on
her road to becoming a decent model.

“I will miss you too!”,Ritika said. Such few words exchanged, but they hold such deep meaning.

When we say we miss someone, what do we exactly miss? The presence?
The moments? Yes we do, but there is a deeper meaning. There are pieces of us,
which match exactly with pieces of someone else. Those pieces glow their
brightest, when they meet their matching soul. We miss the union of the pieces,
we sure do miss the person and their presence but what we miss the most is
being what we are, when we are with them. Rightly said in French, “You are
missing from me”. Such beautiful is the spark of two souls that find solace
with each other.

Ritika missed how her hair bow would look a little different, if
it was done by Amaira. Amaira missed how Ritika would laugh her lungs out, when she enacted one of her old professors. They were complete in all aspects, still
so incomplete without each other.

Resting her laptop on the nearby table, Ritika speed dials

“Hey babe, check the new article!”



“Do these flowers ever wonder that they would have never bloomed, if the leaves didn’t exist? Do these leaves remember that they are suspended by these branches? Are these branches grateful to their roots and these roots to their soil? Oh well they should thank me too, for watering them well and to some extent the sun too!” Reflecting over the little dialogue I just had in my head, I take a dramatic pause while watering the little potted plant.

Aren’t our lives just like this? I mean a particular thing would be a little untouched, the passing breeze a little heavier, some emotion a little unexplored, someone with a little less meaning to life, if it wasn’t for you. There’s a unique essence we all possess and keep adding to everything or everyone we meet! Maybe all that happened would still happen, but still so incomplete without you and the meaning you bought to it. There are so many people who mean the world to us, but we just forget to stop by and say it once.

“A sudden thought of you passed my mind, ‘coz I know it’s you and I Intertwined!”

Bike rides were your idea, singing out loud on them, mine. Late night movies were your plans, smuggling in alcohol mine. Going to work 9- 5, your ideal weekday plans, standing under your office building at 3 and asking you to ditch the boss, mine. Solving a problem together, your idea of a mature relationship, suddenly laughing and making fun of you, mine. You say spending quality time at home by cooking food together, I pour one bottle chilled water on you and say “Namak swad anusaar”. You would bow down and help me strap my heels, I am sorry you expected something cute but I made you wear them instead, and walk with me. You left your social accounts logged in, hoping I would spy and get jealous, I sent ‘I love you’ to ten other girls instead. I am a tornado, with a calm of my own, and you a settled but wrecked city I march towards. No! I am not here to destroy you further or change you, but just to be with you. Now your idea maybe to shelter me, but mine to leash you to my back and flow with all the power and might, I could ever possess.

“It’s difficult to leave and whine, ‘coz remember baby we are intertwined!”

The bindweed on my garden wall, is as beautiful as the interlocked twists of our soul. The scars it has left on my wall, the faint memories we will leave. You wouldn’t be you without me, nor would I be me without you. You and I; inter-mesh of the demon’s master creation and purity of heavenly hymns.

“It’s all the sanity undermined, ‘coz you know we are intertwined!”


(Pic: Self-made art- inspiration from pintrest pictures)


My husband is a terrorist


I have been observing him for months, he looks tensed. He looks like he has been plotting something, something new, something more dreadful. Something that is again going to cast upon me a feeling I can’t describe, they are only colors; black and red, terror and blood.

Yes, my husband is a terrorist.

I didn’t choose him, I was just owned by him. Just like people own houses. Hollow spaces and no power to express; only accommodate. I remained hollow accompanied by dense darkness. I didn’t love him, but the ache in my torn flesh taught me how to love a silhouette. Every time he crushes his body against mine I feel smeared with innocent blood. Will my offspring be a reflection of him? Will I give birth to another creature with an empty heart and mind only to be filled with manipulated ideals; all tangled.

I heard the television roar with headlines that read:

“Terrorist attack over 300 killed, over 500 injured”

“5 terrorists shot dead”

My heart skipped a beat. Why did I want to see my husband again? He deserted over a hundred homes, widowed women, orphaned children and rejoiced in spilling innocent blood. I slapped myself for alluring his return. Now I was happy that there were five less in causing destruction to humanity.

I wish I lived with an actual human, not just a black outline of a person holding doors to destruction. I wish he could understand the pain of losing, the pain of separation, pain of unfulfilled dreams, pain of absence, emptiness. How I wished he was a human.

Letter from a woman hiding within


I may be someone who grew up playing football instead of the dollhouse. I may be someone who has a dozen guy best friends. I may be loud; I may use my own two hands and feet when I face a situation suitable for it. I will make my voice echo loud and clear when I know I am not wrong. I maybe someone who uses slang or someone with a dominant persona. I maybe someone who has grown up with elder brothers around and so behaves 90 %like a boy. I maybe someone who has had no sister around to suggest which shade of lipstick best suits which attire. I maybe someone who wears sports shoes because they are more comfortable. Someone with short hair or hair tied all up. Someone who doesn’t really like make up. I maybe fat, I maybe ultra thin. I may have pimples, dark patches or an uneven tone. These things often sum up the reasons for a girl to be usually ignored by boys.
A girl is someone who is fair with natural pink lips, perfectly sculpted body with the right cuts and curves, long smooth hair, tall and hazel eyes! Take a moment to think who gave us this definition? Why girls all over are classified on the way they look rather than so many other things that really make a woman. In Indian marriages we want a pretty bride, even if the groom is a downright frog. Can we for once in our life consider what a woman really is than how she appears to be and what society thinks she is supposed to do?
Can we try to view the beauty of her thoughts? Dust away all the doubts she has on her own capabilities. Help her fly, help her wings strengthen to pursue her own little ambitions. See her efforts and intentions to make a relation work, be it of a sister, daughter, wife or a friend alone. Can we try to make her feel comfortable in her own skin rather than force the looks that make her hide behind layers of make up to appear “acceptable”. Be very careful what you say to a woman, It might stay with her for a lifetime. Wipe off the stereotyped image of a woman completely submerged in household responsibilities. She can have her own job, she can work and work as hard as her male partner, pay the bills along with him, shoulder his responsibilities too. She can be as strong as her better half.
A woman today is nowhere around the ancient image of a woman draped in sari with a baby on the hip and busy blowing away her ambitions in flames of the stove. She is independent and beautiful in her own way. She is a woman, she has a mind of her own, feelings that need no approval and dreams that she can fulfill. She is pretty in a way only the right man will understand, she is pretty if you let her be!

Acceptance- Virtue of the Courageous.

Today as the year ends, it’s time to recall how eventful the past has been.
This year was special in many ways; this year changed my life.I realized I wasn’t really going on a journey I thought I was on, I was actually in a preparatory classroom taking some important lessons life had to give. Lessons of blinded love, betrayal,deceitful words and empty promises.
Sometimes courage isn’t always in standing tall through the storm.It is falling, accepting defeat, and rising again. Carefully putting back your pieces together.
Life is good with people around and people come in all colors,some colors mix with your color and make it better,some fade your color away while some darken it. People are never bad,cruel or vicious,the situations are to be blamed. Time never remains the same, people or their emotions don’t remain the same.Relations change.
Understand and accept that every person has a role in your life. Sometimes we spoil the perfect relations trying to make it last forever.When people change and nothing can be the same again,it is best to shake hands and part your ways. On a funny note it just means that if your colors mix any further, the palette would turn Raven black.
You will find a color that will perfectly merge with yours;you will find your color-mate! . Meet people ,love,laugh, live. Don’t complicate it with the burden of expectations and the hope of their fulfillment. Accept the good and bad; accept the situation. Take your lessons and move on. Acceptance and moving on requires more courage. Be Brave!