Typing out loud

  I can’t pen my thoughts anymore—they slip through my fingers like sand grains you try to grasp desperately. For what else in this whole wide world demands a line, a verse, a sigh, a thought, a breath besides the space between your furrowed eyebrows? Your subtle blush at the corner of your lips? Your struggles through a sentence? Everything that held my breath. That fragile thought is my muse. What other sight matters enough to warrant words? What other feeling begs to be felt? “Zamane bhar ke gham ya ik tera gham, ye gham hoga toh kitne gham na honge”—whether it's the sorrow of the whole wide world or your sorrow, once this exists, no other sorrow remains. The sorrow of love has consumed me so completely that a world full of bloodshed, hunger, violence, and assault fades to my eyes. The guilt of privilege finally drifts away as I become ignorant and entirely absorbed in my own sorrow. White little hearts on coffee; raindrops lingering on flowers after a shower; window seats in cr...

Mistakes were made by my younger self—terrible mistakes, the regret of which echoes in the emptiness of my present days. Yet you, too, have not spared me gentleness. Despite your cold turns, harsh words, and violent doings, I find it impossible to unlove you. And that, my friend, is love: helpless, flawed, hopeful, and disappointing. They say I cannot move on, that my love for you outshines every ember of my anger or dare I say hatred. Nonetheless, I realize the truth of it, each moment that I live. The gravity of my affection still holds me captive, binding me in chains sweeter than your bitterness ever could. I can’t pen my thoughts anymore—they slip through my fingers like sand grains you try to grasp desperately. For what else in this whole wide world demands a line, a verse, a sigh, a thought, a breath besides the space between your furrowed eyebrows? Your subtle blush at the corner of your lips? Your struggles through a sentence? Everything that held my breath. That fragile thoug...

  I thought I would prick your rage someday, Only to find tears underneath. Till then, we will find an edge— Sometimes in someone's eyes, Other times with the support of someone's shoulders, Or in the warmth of someone's lips. Things weren’t so; I only wanted them to be so. So, I guess I will find my constants in my love for the colloquial tongue and the intimacy attached to it, and my world in someone else's eyes.

 Dil Se (1998) A Film by Mani Ratnam The third installment of Mani Ratnam's thematic trilogy, which explores love in the time of political turmoil, is an example of parallel cinema. It was the year when Kuch Kuch Hota Hai was released and became a commercial success. Though Shah Rukh Khan's character in Dil Se is similar to many of his roles, the film itself was different from what he was signing during those days. Amarkant Verma, a program executive at All India Radio, visits Assam to gather people's opinions on development in the state, fifty years after independence. The very first scene begins with a heavy storm, where we see Amar in a red jacket and Moina at a distance, covered in a black shawl. Amar is transparent—what we see is what he is—but Moina hides her childhood trauma within her. When she leaves the station, Amar remarks that it is "the shortest love story in the world." But we know there is more to come. Dil Se captures the seven shades of love as d...

 I will have to find someone new to finish watching Modern Family. I will have to find someone new to travel the world with and to furnish the white apartment. Shahrukh will linger on your feed for a little while, and your neon bag will stay with me, while my tote bag and floral T-shirt remain with you. Forever. Streets and stations and every corner of the city will now make new memories. But some things will still remain unreclaimed, helplessly associated. Inside jokes will be abandoned. Habits will be replaced. Conversations will find new people. And my dreams will be placed under someone else's feet. Ends will be met. Life will be had.  Of all the things left behind.

Every kitchen here has stories that remain unsaid, efforts that go unacknowledged, and memories of blisters, burns, and isolation. This is an effort to bring those stories to your notice. Kitchen Green This kitchen probably lost all its conventional femininity the day I left her. Chances are, this is the most organized and well-planned kitchen I have ever come across, for it was something I had dreamt of for years. It was my first kitchen. Not that I hadn’t come across a kitchen in my twenty years of life, but this one was mine. My own. Something that will forever hold a special place in my heart. The amateur but eager homemaker in me tried her best to make a home out of the Green kitchen. Glass containers, curated wine glasses, ceramic coffee mugs, sexy knives—and my inability to put the perfect amount of salt in anything I cooked. Times when you miss your mother. Though dreams were lived here, dreams come true at their own cost. The sweet belief that nothing comes for free. I ha...