Relic of the Past

9423267This internet is a strange place. Who knew that all it would take is the ding dong of my phone to bring you back to my life? Years have gone by since the day I realized you were toxic to me and walked out of your life.

However, today, here you are on my timeline, almost a decade later, looking slightly different, yet still achingly familiar. Like a relic from times gone by, your picture brings back memories; of days I’d spent trying to bring out the smile that seems to come to you so effortlessly today, of the hours of sleep I’d lost texting you, of those dark days when you’d confirmed all my darkest fears.

And most of all, it brought back the questions that had plagued me all these years.

Was I too hasty in judging you? Should I have held on a bit longer?

Perhaps it had been both our immaturity that crumbled a friendship that was to last a lifetime, but with a practiced hand I press the ‘X’ and decide not to build back a burnt bridge.




The sounds of the creaking bed and their moans changed to racing heartbeats and heavy panting. He had now moved to the right side of the bed. Even as she stared hard at the ceiling, struggling to bring her pulse back to normal, she felt his gaze and the slight upward turn of his lips.

When she felt a bit more under control, she turned towards him. He was still staring, but as she turned his smile grew wider. A full curve now; and once again her fingers ached to trace it.

‘Maybe even sneak a quick taste. The night’s still young after all.’ She thought, looking at the inky black sky through the window behind him.

“Do you love me?” he asked.

She stiffened, wondering if he knew the truth, but he just looked earnest. So she too smiled and replied.

“Nah, I just think you’re beautiful.”

A Miracle


Opposites aren’t meant to attract; at least not without inviting a world of pain.  They crash into each other.  Some turn into stars and burn for the rest of their days. Others shatter into millions of tiny pieces that float aimlessly in space.

Only once in a thousand black holes do miracles happen and balance is struck. In that perfect balance; universes are born, and life becomes possible.

So here I am on my knees, praying for one such miracle.



Does anyone really have the kinds of memories we read about in books? The ones where every tiny detail is fixed in our minds; like the color of the carpet on the floor, that weird shaped hole left behind the wallpaper that has peeled off or the taste and texture of a meal eaten years ago. (Can people really remember the taste of meals eaten a decade earlier? I’m not sure.) Old Bert next door swears that he could still remember the feeling of having a knife go through his abdomen, even though he’d been stabbed at least twenty-five years ago. I think it might all be a big lie.

Because I don’t remember you anymore. Your face has slowly faded into a blur. Where I could once tell the exact pattern of the freckles on your nose, now I struggle to remember the color of your eyes. The music of your lullaby has faded, leaving behind just empty lyrics.

I see red when the girls at school throwing tantrums at their mom or bitch about them in class. Why do they get to keep their moms even when they don’t seem to want her? I miss you. I want you back mom, so why do I have to be the only person without one?

It makes me angry that Dad found someone else to replace you. Although she is very sweet and kind, I’m livid. She’s better than I deserve and move loving than you ever were. I hate that.

I hate that I’ve got nothing to hold against her. I hate that the rational part of me knows I’m the one whose at fault. I hate that I can’t blame her for anything other than being a responsible adult. I hate that I almost called her ‘mom’ today and her face brightened as if I had won the Olympics. Above all, I hate that I can’t remember you ever smiling like that.

Oh, why did you leave me like this, Ma?

Wow, that’s a lot of anger and hatred in one person right? Just know, this was written a long time ago and it’s just a character. It’s not me. I don’t need therapy. Still, thanks for being concerned. That’s very sweet of you. You are a good cookie. 😛

Unsaid Words

Three words remained unsaid,

In twinkling eyes and coy smiles,

In feather light touches or intertwined fingers,

In fifteen minutes walks or week long vacations.

Violent desires remain buried

within the pink of their cheeks,

within the lumps in their throats,

and in the excited beating of hearts

Only to never be said aloud

as crosses cannot mix with holy beads,

sacred threads don’t match gold rings,

and Amen and Om cannot coexist.


Just Another Step

Just take another step. And another. Till you reach the end.

People tell you to keep going, even when nothing is going your way. Even when the nights never seem to end, they tell you to trust that the sun shall come up again; to trust that it was just the end of a chapter and not the end of the book.

Do they not realize all books do end. Sometimes nights never turn to day and people never wake up from their nap.

So today I just take another step, until I reach my end. 19_20120115feet-cliff032

My NaNoWriMo 2016 Story

Recently I’ve had a craving to get out of my comfort zone and try my hand at writing longer fiction. Though I’ve been telling stories for a long time, the last November was the first time I tried writing anything more than a couple of paragraphs.

I decided that the only way I would get myself motivated was to participate in NaNoWriMo; a month long event during November where folks across the world try writing 50000 words in 30 days.

It was a bad month to choose such a challenging project. With exams taking up more than half the month, I did not reach my goal. I barely wrote 4,000 words of which I have since cut out 3000 words. Still, it is the longest piece I’ve ever written, and I’ve barely written the beginning.

However, in spite of not reaching my goal, I consider my NaNo attempt as a success. The month was a journey of self-discovery as a writer. I have come to accept that I cannot write with an outline hovering over me. Neither can I write without knowing at least a little bit about my storyline. I’m one of the plantsers; I like a happy medium between obsessive plotting and jumping in completely blind. I’ve learned that plot and setting come much more naturally to me, but I struggle with character arcs. I also find it hard to write scenes with a lot of dialogue. Character’s voice is another area that I tend to slip up and get sloppy. 

So that’s my story, tell me yours. Let me know in the comments below what you learned from NaNoWriMo 2016.