.a written note.

You know the lane by heart, because you carried it everywhere you went. The cracks on the wall, the colour of the powder when you grated bricks for fun, the smell of summer evenings and the sound of quiet afternoons because children were supposed to sleep till 4 o’clock. Along those lines live the directions the kids gave to the autowallas on the way back home back home, back home. Where the trees are intact albeit not ageless, you’ve carried with yourself the smell of water splashed on mud and cement. The sound of children of the house cheering, playing hide and seek till 8 o’clock. I want to write more, about the hours occupied in laughter, conversations and more of them, about the hungry lunch times and a relaxing ritual of tea-making or brewing great-grandmother’s coffee. about the annual ritual of going through wheat grains, rice and lentils. I want to write more, but how can one define the colour of nostalgia?

I feel it. I feel that I’m losing the grip over myself Was there supposed to be any? I thought I had it, I thought I could get myself together and get up, walk and just do things that I always was going to do I didn’t know I’d fall I didn’t know a fall would be like this like this giant void Which can’t be filled with or by people Their noise and silences I feel this giant void that pulls me down way further and more. Void is what owns my grip, the grip that I long to have I long to connect. to merge and be one with myself.

ऐ दिल, तू मान जा, समझ ले दुनिया की रीत और याद कर हररोज़ की ये तो एक नांव है, कभी शांत, कभी ज़ोर से बहती.. तू इसमें है बैठा, जैसे बैठे हैं कई हज़ार.. ना उनको पता, ना तुझे ये पल्ले पड़ता की दुनिया है घूमती अपने ही घेरों में, जैसे है तू सुनता अपनी ही धड़कने.. ये घेरे हैं थोड़े घने, बरसो से अटके इन्हे तू सुलझाने ना जा, बल्कि समझ ले वो गूंजती हुई दास्तां, जो है हर एक के लिए अलग, पर सीमित नहीं.. मुश्किल है, पर अधूरी नहीं.. ऐ दिल, तू मान जा मुझे समझा दे ये दुनिया।

if it leaves, it’s not pain. It never was. If at all it hits you hits you hard, it’s like a blue ink it leaves behind stains that refuse to vanish no matter who’s doing the laundry. It entertains like a dream long enough to confuse you into reality and it elopes into a faraway land turning you into a melancholic mess engulfed in solitude that becomes a more fathomable, a more comfortable white-sheets bed. So, in your mind you may think you're alone all indulged on your own, what will you answer if I say I too am one, one of your irrational thoughts or loathsome imageries that hide behind the curtains of your eyes? I am the sight you thought you lost. I am the intrigued audience when you’re on stage. Therefore, let there be a time apart from their goody mouth and promising handshakes for they're all true and pretentious at their own convenience and you must not ever stand waiting For you have a universe within you dying to come alive and kill with a smile.

Tonight lying exactly under the sky gazing at the stars and moon I am feeling no fear inside no fear none at all none cares here for the good laughter, enjoyment, music and whatnot I am intrigued by all and I can feel there’s no reason to be scared of anyone ever in life I finally understand I am a whole human being and the value of it I have a whole universe within and rushing through me there’s a galaxy in just about everything about life breathtaking is what I’d call this this enchanting endeavour.

When will I recover from this longing that takes me to a third world which I never thought existed.. I am by now quite comfortable staying here in this in between road leading me towards God knows where. It must be your place, your own universe it is, in fact, yours. I know it now. Turning back is too harsh and unfathomable to this soul, for it’s always always wanted to reach here, feel the warmth of this playground to the heart, this presence of yours, up and above the rest of the world. And do you know honey? I no longer want to recover.

Sleep consisting of endless possibilities of illustrations and strokes of brushes of bruised thoughts and wishes. And then an alarm A wake-up call, hey it’s a new day. Waking up to an already awake world still rejoicing in the sunrise with toothpaste, a different brand from home’s. Time - travelling at the back of mind. Time - travelling, always. A reminder. Present Tense. Use grammar of life. When you are in present, live in the present. Mirror. Acknowledgement. Officially, the day starts.

Of all the stories they told me I picked the ones  elaborated with enthusiasm listening to them in family gatherings, kitchen and the backyards I monitored life with the only guideline that every passer by was an angel, not knowing that there is only place in this world for the adroit and sceptical and I stood there letting life reach  my adrenaline for that’s what a novice does.

When you put your arms around me, I be dazzled by the wounds you’ve held for so long Why did you stick by the rose seemingly so red and bold if all it gave you were thorns? I am intrigued with a terror like that that swings you off your feet covers your face with the purest of the pure joy and moulds you into someone who passes the love on I am terrified of your power & grace it takes you somewhere far but the ashes of hope and longing scream they scream of your inner hospitality enchanting and bokeh like, oh, life and its vulgarity..

How am I supposed to feel when this river flows furiously & reminds me of utter peace? How am I supposed to write for there are words still unsaid, still echoing.

A boy called out while I was on a beach sinking in thoughts, drowning in anxiety. He asked my name & where I came from & if he could join in I must have managed to look less bad, for the next moment the space beside me didn’t remain empty. The boy sat next silent & more of it, without my attention for it was a beach as wide as it seemed making me sink in thoughts & all of their secrecy. He spoke of his hometown & how he missed it The cities he had roamed around, & their beloved streets. He smiled often for reason as unknown as the world to me, warning me how hopeless we were & difficult at living. He left me within minutes the boy with bruised arms & torn jeans leaving behind a note, that read “It’s okay to feel nothing.”

In chaotic melody I lie here while you do the chores the usual way, waiting for me to climb the mountain.

She gazes out the window, wondering what can make her swallow her pain.. All she sees are the city things, never the sunlight on the dying grain. The winds blow, touching her cheeks.. Appear the clouds, to not let the Sun burn her skin.. Flowers blossom, knowing she's unwell, wondering if forever, that's where she remains.. She knows all the efforts the nature puts in, not being a stranger. To make her feel good again and not to give in and be the same mess-maker. How she wishes the winds knew, that those remind her of a fragrance.. How she wishes the clouds understood, protecting her, they multiply his absence. The winds blow faster, the flowers grow bigger, Telling her not to be afraid.. The sun goes down like setting a crown, of inspiration and desires, on her head. For her life seems without any pleasing sky, down the street, across the breeze, there comes a butterfly. Asking her if or not can she feel a thing, she looks at it, about to ...