The End

It is difficult.

Just the way they say it is.

The memories keep coming back and you can’t do nothing.

It’s been months now.

I pick up the pen everyday, stare at the notebook, wondering where to get started.

They said it would help.

It was never clear how it happened – perhaps just a misunderstanding, but it was decided that we would never go back to what it was.

The days seemed more beautiful than they really were. Waking up every morning had a purpose. Days consisted of just two kinds of moments – the ones in which you are in together and the ones where you miss each other. Going to bed every night dreaming of another morning together.

Life was simple. Yet it felt amazing.

Now, we’ve vowed to just remain friends, eventually trying to reduce the communication until it ceases to exist one day.

Maybe that’s the part where everything went wrong.

It’s been an amazing experience – starting with being strangers, building a world of dreams together, only to be hit by reality and deciding to go back to where it all started off, as strangers, but this time with a change, more precisely a challenge – building separate worlds.

The latter is still yet to complete, but the two worlds are slowly taking shape, one person at a time.

But you never give up. Life goes on.

Or maybe not.

I’m stuck here, in this world of beautiful memories, crafted together. I know that I won’t have these again.

This might never be published. But this is going to be, now.

As someone said,

This is not the end. This is not even the beginning of the end. But this might be, well, the end of the beginning.

Here’s to a newer tomorrow!



People walked down the stairs with a smile on their face, waving hands at the people standing on the road; a sense of accomplishment in their glimmering eyes. Throngs of people waited outside just to get a glimpse; lucky were the ones who got a chance to go upstairs.

Too bad that I ain’t talking about Mannat on SRK’s birthday or the famed Galaxy apartments. It was a suicide scene, but what amazed me was the way people reacted.

Inability to understand, let alone speak the local language proved a major bottleneck here. But then, you always find someone who speaks your language, and I too found one here.

The girl had hanged herself tying her dupatta to the fan. Apparently the girl made the decision since she had a squabble with her family. I wondered how I would’ve tried to avoid that view or just want to unsee it, just in case I caught a glimpse, when I saw a guy running down the stairs, jumping down a couple or three steps at once. 

Voila! He managed to get a photograph from the window. Now he could let the unlucky ones have a closer look.

A couple of hours later, an ambulance arrives and takes away the body. Now the chaar log in our society begin their work. The reason for the girl’s suicide changes from family issues to failed love matters and then to her family not accepting the relationship. Some people even brought it to such lows that you can’t even decide whether to write it here.

It is at moments like these when I feel powerless as a member of the so-called society or just as an individual. It puts me into serious thought that even after years of evolution, we still lack somewhere whilst calling ourselves the most intelligent beings on the planet. 

Somewhere we fail to understand that an individual needs to given a certain amount of respect, even if their soul leaves the physical body behind.

And suicides are overly under-rated. With the independent, bold women spreading awareness about how periods are normal or how much of choice they have, and the average man trying to explain the other sex why manspreading is necessary or how guys make mistakes, it’s high time somebody looked into this. Such self-slaughters happen when people are desperately in need of help and we as a society could contribute a lot to preventing such situations.

This has been disturbing my mind for long and eventually I found peace jotting this down, hoping this would make sense to someone.

Likes, Followers and Fame

Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, Quora, the list goes on. 11 out of 10 people I know are active on some popular social network.

Do you know what all these people have in common?

The hunger for fame.
Well, that is sure to not go well with many if the people out there. Most of them don’t crave the attention, they say. Most of them had a time. Most of us have had a moment, when you get a like count higher than your previous record, and the feeling is just bliss. This continues until the followers run into thousands followed by the like count. Likes, upvotes, friends, followers; your virtual army.

But this measure of fame, does it become a bane to the others? The ones who still live with a meagre amount of likes and followers. Once one of friends created an Instagram account with the sole objective of having a thousand followers. Sounds funny, but he was damn too serious and emotional about it. He puts up average content but hasn’t been able to make the break yet.

I personally frustrated when I look at the people who use the quickest ways to gain fame, sleaze being the worst. But then its being the green-eyed monster or the ever jealous, nosy neighbor; it’s their life and they made it. Kudos. Though it is a disappointment to all the decent folk who work hard to get this fruits of success from the audience.

But on a serious note, aren’t we addicted to this rat race for fame? 

A fair life

Is being white a privilege?

Probably not. But still people root for a fairer world. 

There have been celebrities standing upto this issue in the previous weeks. Popular fairness cream advertisements show a girl who was dull and dusky turning into a social butterfly and a complete success, thanks to the whitening effect of these magical concoctions. You seriously think dusky people achieving things is pure luck?

And it is not just women who are affected by the dusky skin syndrome. Men too are supposed to be white, and of course no using women’s fairness creams because ‘they don’t bring the desired effect on male skin’.

I am being particularly choosy when using the word dusky instead of black. Apart from not-being-racist reasons, the color black has often been linked to dark and evil causes. For the same reason, you aren’t allowed to buy a black dress or anything as they are particularly considered inauspicious. The only time perhaps the color is desired is when you start to age, for hair staying black means you got something in you.

I have heard stories about people getting rejected because their skin color is too dark. And yet, people outside the country seem to admire this generous gifts of melanin; they strive to get that perfect tan.

This thing will fade within a couple of weeks more, and the world will again go crazy over white skin again. Till then let’s revel ourselves in some other gossip.

Comeback Post

It has been long ago that I have written something. I don’t know if someone has been watching out for any post of mine. If someone does, thanks a lot and I hope to be able to update regularly.

I’ve been thinking a lot on what I should write. When I started the blog, I thought that I had much to share with the world. The world which is a more scarier place now.

Crimes, calamities and differences plague most parts of our planet of residence. And here I am wondering where all of this is leading us to. The child inside opines to see all of this just as a part of the story, although what it plans to see ahead is pure fantasy.

Sometimes I get that writer’s block. But the determination to write something feels lost long ago. There is a sea of content within; there is also great confusion, as to how the content can be put into words, careful as to  not offend anyone. When I see people writing, I am in awe. Their ability to shape their thoughts into beautiful sentences are remarkable. Be it poems, or just random scribbles, they have their own value.

Now, until I get a good subject to comment on, I suppose it would be great to interact with the bloggers out here. Atleast, I might make a friend.

So what do you love to write about?

And what inspires you?


Like the day makes way for the night,

the way the seasons seamlessly transition into the next,

Like hate transforming into love,

midnight is among the best moments of life,

when most of the ideas flash into my mind.

Halfway between sleep and wakefulness,

the womb of thought at its fertile best.

Whilst I lie waiting for sleep to strike,

the mind comes up with its greatest creations.

Maybe this is my blessing,

To know how dreams are made up.

P.S. : This is probably my first poem. Suggestions and comments welcome.


Stemming deep from within, a desire to know what you are. Trapped within a soul, who am I?

People seem fake. Excelling at their assigned roles. Why does it all seem like a play all of a sudden?

The achievements, moments of bliss all seem to have withered away. Just like vapor on a cold windshield. When all the praises showered upon feel like flattery, none of them real. 

When you look back and realize what you have achieved, only to see there is nothing. What have you been doing all these years?

Depressed? No. High? No. Then what makes you all philosophical all of a sudden? The voices around rise in chorus. The society maybe. Or my conscience.

The blog is probably dead, so are ideas. What about me? I live. Merely exist, to be precise.

Questions, questions. Wait, isn’t that what makes us different? Life. No matter how much you run away from her, she always finds a way to enchant you again. Interesting.

Wake up! You have another birth anniversary coming. Live every moment. Leave a mark. A good one. Before the next one comes up. 

Happy Birthday you idiot!

Advance wishes.