Unforgettable friendship.

When she laughed, I laughed. When she frowned, I frowned. She was my pillar when I was falling and I was hers’. It is a friendship that I’ll cherish forever. I still have all the letters, all the photographs, all the messages and all the presents. I take them out in times when I feel really low, and so far away from myself. They always manage to bring a smile on my face. I smile at the love which oozes out from those letters and gets caught up in the glitter of those fantastic hearts, plastered on top of the letters, shinning persistently, even after all these years. I smile at the bright side of time. I smile at our uncontrolled and our uncorrupted minds.


I am wearing a red top with black polka dots; we’re walking on the green grass by the pool. Some water is splashed and then some more, and soon we get into a water-fight and start to push each other until we’re practically rolling on the grass, laughing. 



We bunk a class, probably the first time that I ever did so, to discuss our future plans. Swaying on a playground swing, we promise each other, to follow our dreams and passions, no matter what. 



We’re discussing how strange life is, it is 4 am and we have so much to talk about! It is raining profusely and the lights are out. We both love the weather and we’re both just being very sarcastic and pulling each others’ leg!


I am staring up at the sky, with her by my side. I tell her that she’s the only person I can count on, that she is the only one who truly understands me and knows me, in every sense of the word. Afterwards, I tell her that she sucks, to lighten the mood a bit.



We watched a movie today, barely! As we were too busy clicking pictures of the movie screen. So weird and childish we are!


We laughed so much today. There were tears in our eyes! Math and chemistry class is fun because of her. 


Today was unforgettable. Had so much fun discussing bizarre scenarios of life and talking about books and then running away from the Pizzeria because it was too expensive!



Unforgettable. A significant piece of my heart, a part of me which is entirely me is because of that friendship. All the rest is made up, all the rest is just staggering on a concrete path, listlessly. Reaching, almost, and then taking infinite steps back.



A dream to remember


My world was spinning. I wanted to scream. The pain in my neck was becoming more and more unbearable, my insides were burning. It felt like I was on fire. 

In front of me, hung a huge mirror, in which I could perfectly see myself. My eyes brimmed with tears, tears which then burned my cheeks. My face had grown pale and my hazel eyes, red. My evanescent brown hair had never looked darker. I felt the blood pulling away from my skin as I stared at my impaled neck. 

It was night, I had gone out to get groceries when I was attacked and dragged into a dark alley. I remember being hit on the head and fainting. I woke up to find myself tied to a wooden chair in a dimly lit room, guarded by a woman who sat across from me on a similar chair. 

I tried to speak, but couldn’t. The pain will soon kill me, I thought. 

“This was meant to happen, Serra” The Woman across from me spoke in a stentorian voice. 

How does she know my name? Who is she? 

I furrowed my eyebrows at her, at her petty remark on my fate. I couldn’t make sense of it all, whereas I knew what this was. I’d always heard about it and knew it was true, but never thought that I’d be chosen next. And suddenly, she emerged from the darkness of the corner of the room. My breathing became erratic, my skin grew paler.

It was my mother.

“..How…” It was a word without any sound. I wondered if this was a prank, if this was all planned. But the deterioration of my physical health held no resemblance to my thoughts. 

My mother had conspired this. 

“Why?” I managed to say.

“We are god’s men, Serra.” She said

So, she’s one of them. 

“Vampires are not gods” I seethed.

“The goddess chose you, Serra. Since you’ve always been so weak, don’t you see the silver lining? You will be agile – you’ll have the strength of 30 men. You will be alluring and young, forever; your beauty will be eternal, envied by most. You-“

“STOP!” I screamed. 

The door to the room flew open; Inevitable, he came in with his varlets. He was so tall. I could barely see him with his hood covering his face. He stopped right in front of me and stood there for what seemed like centuries, and then lifted off his hood. 

These indecipherable blue eyes are here to take me, to complete the transition.

He kneeled down and whispered my name. The throbbing pain pervaded every single cell in my body. My mother was standing in the farthest corner of the room, weeping. The man spoke from across the space between us.

“Thee’ve been chosen

hark to mine own sweet voice

and surrend’r to the goddess”

The dream ends. Do I become a Vampire, then? It seems so. I also like the name Serra or maybe it could’ve been Furiosa.Tempting!

But I was a Vampire fanatic, since it was the trendiest pop-fiction topic back then and something which put a dark and mysterious spin on a romantic story. Jam a stake through my heart! But I would always have dreams about Vampires, after binge watching Vampire shows and reading young adult novels about them. I’m glad that it was just a phase, though I’m not guilty!
Pic credits: Google.

Moth to a flame

I wish it didn’t have to be so different,

I wish you could stay the same person who is brave enough to rule against his fears.
I wish you didn’t forsake me when I asked you of your rationale behind the change.

If only I could show you clarity in your doubts
If only I could trace you order and meaning in the chaos
If only you could see beyond your shattered dreams,
How someone has it worse than you
And gather strength, rather than pity.

But you already know everything,
Yet you continue on being a moth to a flame
You’re attracted towards everything that burns bright.

You’ve been burnt twice since then,
And yet you never learn.

Fear of the dark.



A jaunty walk in an eerie park,

Where an empty swing-set keeps swinging

A distant whisper, to raise suspicion,

Induce a haunting curiosity which proved numbing.

Leaf-less trees emulate the spooky tree from potter,

Where fallen leaves create swirling patterns with the wind

Wishing that I was Wendell and Monica Wilkins’s daughter,

Who is fearless and effulgent, no matter how scary the night is, and no matter how grim.

Suddenly out of nowhere, a voice called out, that sounded just like my mothers’

I chastised myself for coming out for a walk, in the eerie park all by myself.

Because I had a feeling of something evil hovering, just above my head,

I wondered if it wanted to hurt me, or hug me or just wanted to talk instead.

But my fear abated, as thoughts percolated

As it all reminded me of the Canterville ghost from the Oscar Wilde plot

I smiled at my memory of it and embraced the now sweetened fear, consummately.

The melancholic ghost could never hurt me, I thought.

I came out into the light, bolder than Hermione Granger (not quite)

I became friends with all the voices inside (and outside?) my head and embraced their incomprehensibility

I learnt that even when it’s not dark, such whimsical energy does environ me

So it’s just the fear of the dark and of the unimaginable, only because it is unimaginable.


It all depends on what you imagine, and then, who/what you imagine yourself to be.

Hence, I learnt that fear is a part of life; all you do is learn to accommodate it.



She says, that

It is easy to fall in love with her,

Once you seek her out

But so very difficult to stay in love with her,

As you begin to connect the dots

Her, who is hunched over a worn-out book in the university library, with her long hair hanging over the sides of her shoulder, she who appears so still and stolid that you begin to wonder with a puerile curiosity, about what is so riveting about those pages that she seldom lifts up her face, and does so only to push her spectacles up on her nose.

Her, who is embarrassed at you being fascinated by her, who doesn’t want you to decipher her, or to tug at the seams of a mystery which is so intricately stitched to her being that she will come apart with one single pull, if you were to try so hard.

Her, who suddenly wears such a solemn and tired expression on her face that you feel guilty; you’re an idiot, to look at her in a way an inquisitive child would look at something.

Her, who nervously started tugging at the hem of her top, displaying a gaucherie that yet again riveted your attention towards her and this realization, made her flush. So much so, that she closed her book and got up.

Her, on whose face you saw indifference, whose mellow eyes suddenly, seemed so piercing, testimony to the fact that you had been an oaf.  Her, who you had gotten paranoid, uncomfortable and flustered- all these things, that being her friend, you weren’t supposed to make her feel.

So this was her, who realized that you were falling in love with her. Because who else deciphers a person that way, than a guy who is in love with you, she’d said.

Her, who stopped being a friend to you long ago, who’d bullshit her way out so effortlessly, making you the villain, and cried when she did so. Her, who didn’t want to jeopardize “our” friendship of one year, who said you haven’t know her “long enough”, then there was you, who’d have it no other way, who no longer wanted to be her nice friend.

She’d said, that

It is easy to fall in love with her,

Once you seek her out

But so very difficult to stay in love with her,

As you begin to connect the dots


You asked her, what does she mean, so she smiled her stupid smile and leaned in – to say nothing.


So it hurts. To remember her, her, whose sound of voice you long to hear, after a tired, long and hard day. And distinctly  remember her sweet cadence, her sincerity in her words, her wide eyed gaze over something that you said, her concentration, her cheerfulness, her energy- just like a dream, it all appears before your eyes, all of her- void of her.

Her, whose ramblings you can’t live without, whose logic of doing things a certain way always eluded you and, her, who always made you see things in a new light. Her immaculate and dramatic expressions, her unusual behaviour, her passion, her stupid grin, her long hair and her short hair- How is it; that you irrevocably came in close contact with her, only to be captivated by her and then relinquished, by her. She must be ok, you think. So you call up the next girl you could think of.

She writes in her diary, crying profusely. She calls it future.


So he complains that she is just not the same.

She chuckles; it’s always the same line with every nice guy she meets.

They always try to figure things out,

Always try to use them as a weapon against her.

And she being so passionate, it always ends on a bitter note.

So they always get over her, before it actually ever begins.

But had she known you were different, that you were not just fascinated, that you would have loved her unconditionally, had you understood her when she said to you, “long enough” or, had you been a little more patient, she would’ve definitely pursued you. But you let her slip away and, she you.

A fractured syntax is better than writing nothing

I’ve been struggling to write, hitting the backspace key more often than I would like in these past few days. Scribbling one word over another on my notepad until the ink imprints itself on the next page. And it is not because I can’t figure out what to think about anything but just because my thoughts and views are profuse. Sometimes I can’t find the right words, nothing seems to satisfy me. Nothing fits my discernment no matter how clearly I seem to have perceived it. And I end up writing nothing.


Nothing- it is a melee of shattered glass. With every word you fail to put in its right place, a seemingly good sentence shatters itself into a million tiny pieces and before you know it, there’s a pile of it on the prescient paper which knew the fate of your words before you even picked up the pen. And I can either believe all of it, or none of it. But I am a believer when I’m writing. I have to be. Otherwise I’m as good as a blank paper.


But a blank page is one I can’t do without, a blank screen is one I sit in front of, to mull over an event which led me to another event which led me to a “spiritual epiphany”; and then I start to write, but I find it hard to write without a syntax which conveys the sense of each word without seeming deceptive. And for my wanting a clearer meaning for my otherwise confusing syntax, I ultimately end up writing nothing again.


But I’ve come to find that nothingness is seductive, as it has meaning without words. But then again, if that was the case, I’ve got only nothingness in my mind.

This bulwark of protection has to be broken down since I don’t want to be consumed by nothingness under the impression that it is something after all. Because it isn’t; it is just a chimera.


So you let the rejected words dry, you let the shattered pieces heal. For afterwards, they become something of their own. You believe that they do. And that you must forego the ambition of writing nothing. And that you must accept everything, as it is.


Because at the end of the day, a fractured syntax isn’t as bad as it may seem. 🙂


Dharamsala/Mcleodganj/Triund – May 2017




Namgyal Monastery – Home to the residence of Dalai Lama

Beautiful art on the floor of the monastery


City shopping


On my way to church of St. John’s


Bird house!

Neo-gothic architecture

Church of St. John’s


Visiting Cafe Illiterati

My most favorite part of the cafe!

That’s me 🙂
Outside the cafe


Triund trek!



At the top after a three and a half hour trek

The majestic dog!

Moi 🙂

View from the tent


The rock!


The end

All pictures were clicked with an iPhone 6. 🙂