Your words escape from the shackles your mind created.The mind just wants to protect you, it has itself on the look out for potential shrapnel that could come hurtling at the speed of sigh.

Or was it the heart?
The heart locks itself inside seemingly impenetrable walls made of bitter emotions; sweetness and innocence are lie bound within.

But those two manage to escape.

How they escape, look. Not once do they turn back to see how the heart and mind despair at their unbridled movement. They call out, ” Come back, you shall be wounded by the world again. Please, oh please, come back.” They do not.

Out in the world after so long, they sniff out hope and faith. Old friends, forbidden not forgotten. The bonds of hope and faith, once formed, are stronger than the shackles devised by the head and the heart.

Hope blinds you like the sun. The golden rays enlighten everything they touch, innocence is unaware of the blindness it causes when one looks at the rays directly.
Faith deafens you like the wind. A breeze when slow, a typhoon having gathered momentum around the vacuum of your despair. Innocence tries to clutch at it, only to find the destruction faith left in its wake.

Thus blind and deaf, the two move forward boldly. Their steps falter in the beginning, long confinement does that to us all. They recover their former vitality. The sun and wind make them bloom.

The path is the same.
The path had splinters, it still does.
Oh sweet innocence, the shackles were to protect not bind,
Oh sweet innocence, you now lay bleeding again.
The delights fade away soon, the wounds do not,
Oh sweet innocence, the shackles you broke and for what?



Why do you pin hopes on someone, waste endless hours fantasizing about multiple scenarios and then feel utterly disappointed when nothing materializes? What is mystery behind the allure of what-ifs?

You think you’ve been presented with a rope to climb out of the abyss you were in turns out to be an oiled sliver of your own imagination that you can never hold onto.

Reality never mixes with imagination.

Reality is vicious.


I think every word starting with the letter ‘V’ has a certain authoritative ring to it.

For today, my word is ‘void’.

Rhonda Byrne’s ‘The Secret’ teaches one to be thankful for everything that makes us happy, to be happy without external agencies making us so and to smile even if a little part of your soul is chipped off each day. See, that’s the thing. These pieces are tiny, their loss goes undetected. With every fake smile, with every forced laugh, with every YouTube playlist of sad songs on loop and with every sigh that escapes your lips that you brush off as condensation in winter; the chipping continues. You lie to your conscious, wrapping it up in blankets of fluff and safeguard it from your own scrutiny.

At night, with a book in hand you stare at the pages and sneak glances at the wall clock waiting for the right time to bid goodnight to the world. It arrives, finally. Once again sleep’s smokescreen blinds you to the gaping vacuum. Your subconscious rattles against the walls of your mind, screaming wordlessly about your deepest fears, aches and the fact that you have not had an honest conversation with anyone for a long time. Maybe you should. Sadly, these dreams last for not more than ten seconds. Ten seconds. You need more time to take just three deep breaths.

The alarm wakes you up and for a moment you lips droop much like a flower’s petals bowed down with the weight of dew. You shake it off because it is ‘good morning’ for a reason. You go through daily motions like a pendulum. It dutifully moves on its well versed trajectory unaware of the purpose it serves in a time when clocks are nothing but ornaments. You too are unaware. Or are you?

One day you do realise there is a void. No amount of comfort food fills it and no lung-squishing hug can fuse the edges of this vacuum. Much like a balloon with a small puncture letting out air steadily, shrinking yet valiantly trying to stay buoyant;  this void will crumple you. Unlike the balloon, you overcome this sinking effect caused not by gravity but the lead in the pit of your stomach.

The void still remains. You wonder what could fix it. You know the answer, maybe. The answer scares you, it requires you to trust something or someone.

Trusting someone is what caused the void in the first place, didn’t it?

The Blog is Dead. Or is it?

Surprise surprise.

This course has sucked the words out of me. I reach home so absolutely tired, moving fingers in coordination to the eyes on the keyboard too seems a herculean task.

There was once life

trapped between qwerty.

Every night she set life free,

through the words of her imagination.

Her thoughts were hers to choose,

they were like the wind


Now, they’re just air

a necessity for life,

not for feeling alive.



To Pressing!

I forgot my blog’s birthday.

I barely post now.

Comments are waiting to be seen and replied to.

Not a good thing, is it?

Well, the journalism course is consuming all my time. It is like a newly born child who wakes up at one am in the night, wailing and shrieking.The mother doesn’t mind tending to her baby’s needs. Well, maybe sometime she does, but mostly it’s love driven. The same is with me.

I love this course. The people who guide us are amazing.

I write a lot, assignments, reports, headlines and whatnots. I have stopped writing here. Sheer laziness and a bad internet condition.

To all the good readers who have commented on my posts, thank you. I apologise for my absence, shall try to be a better writer and host.

To the same people I’d like to say, thank you.




Feminist, be one.



The word glittered in a gigantic storey high font on the VMA stage.  Before it stood Beyonce; sexy and confident. The very embodiment of femininity proclaimed to be a proud feminist too.

She sang ‘Flawless’ with the word blazing behind her, 14 million viewers sat watching.

The word blacked out, but its vision remained imprinted. She owned the word on stage that night.

Beyonce’s performance did more than just entertain, it made girls and women across the globe think.  She defined feminist using Nigerian author Ngozi Adichie’s words: “someone who believes in the social, political and economic equality of the sexes”.

No doubts, no ambiguity.

This performance is culturally significant. When the world’s third most popular artist goes on stage and says something, a message is delivered. Beyonce at least told the world what feminism really is. She sold the idea to the ones who need it the most.

Yes, the females.

People across the globe have distorted the meaning of the word feminism. It has alarmingly become a symbol for women hating men. A quick perusal of memes, blogs and various sites shows misinterpretation by many because of misunderstanding.

Many women seem to recoil from the thought of being labelled a feminist. Men seem to associate a lack of femininity with a feminist. 

Why so?

The train of thought that a woman does not need a man is not what governs this social movement. A quick Google search on “I am not a feminist” shows a million results in 20 seconds and this is without having to feel lucky. The reasons range from “But I love men,” to “because of the Bible.”

Feminism has, in recent times, been associated to angry, discontent and uncouth women who carelessly fling this word around to get what they want. They want to be treated fairly and thus sneer at the very thought of chivalry. Feminists shall pay their share of the bill and don’t need men to open doors for them. Feminists do not need men. Period.

This is not so.

Do you believe in allowing women to be what they want to be? Do you believe in paying men and women equally for the same job? Do you believe in letting women go out at night? Do you believe in equality of all? Well, congratulations, you are a feminist.

A girl is taught how to behave like a lady. She is taught manners, she is allowed to study and excel but her ambition is snipped when it overshadows her duties as a wife or as a mother.

Things are changing. Society has certainly become more accepting. We do find men who stay at home and take care of the child. These are cases where feminism has won. We need more.

In a world where we still rape our women, kill our daughters in the womb and report heinous crimes against women, we need feminism. For every girl who is told to quit her job for the sake of her marriage, for each woman who is told to keep her opinion to herself, for each female who is constantly judged by society for the choices she makes; we need feminism.

Let women be;let them choose, let them decide.

Certain sections have now started calling themselves ‘humanitarian’. Call it what you may, the idea of equality is fundamental to this social movement. Equality of both the sexes without distorting it with woman-centric, male degenerating agenda is what this movement is about.

It shall take many Beyonce- like performances and education for true feminism to be achieved, but each step counts.

We do need men.

A feminist shall add only this to that statement, “We need women just as much”.


My journalism course started on 22nd July.

Three weeks and I think I am in love.

Every minute of every day is spent soaking in the knowledge that flows free from people who are the embodiment of amazing.

There is fun even in being dead tired.

There is fun in doing what you want.

Go, have fun.

P.S: I’ll be posting my assignments here for public decimation and review. Soon.

How have you all been?