23rd July 2015 – 8.30 am

Now that the hunger has subsided, let’s get down into the stream of consciousness. Travelling in train in the month of July is something I don’t think I have ever done before. And now as I sit in the sparsely populated 2-tier compartment, with people still devouring the depths of a slumber which eludes them during their mundane daily lives, I have finally gathered enough mettle to jot things down.

I would have loved to do it with a pen on real paper. But oh the spoilings of technology. That reminds me he had asked me yesterday about keeping a pen along with me. It had happened while I was giving finishing touches to my packing. It was a question that I had let gone unanswered. I guess it is Murphy at work all over again. I felt the need of exactly that what I had not bothered to pack.

Getting back to travelling in train during monsoons. Its certainly bliss. Especially if you have caught on to enough sleep during the dark hours to wake up at day break. The view from the window is serene. It is all green to the last inch of horizon. The air is cool and fresh and the entire nature seems to be on a weekend mode. Spring definitely is the weekend for nature.

There are the freshly ploughed fields with soil which is not caked but looks beautifully dark after being washed by a night pour. Then there are certain fields which are done with sowing and tiny plants have started to emerge from earth’s surface. Some of them probably celebrating the days when they finally witnessed the sky. They remind me of my own back at home. I am the careless mother to them who are being tended to with utmost love by their father. Yes, of the two of us he is the one with the green thumb. All I do is breath in their freshness and greenness that too for my own comfort.

This journey is turning out extremely blissful. With the company of a heart-warming book I have a vast expanse of green carpet laid outside the window. As the trees run past many things crop up in my head and all of them barely make their presence felt. It seems like a melee of thoughts but a happy one if something like that is even there.

I look at the tiny bird which is flapping its windows with all his might trying to soar to better heights. Then there are those stray skeletons of dwellings standing little away from the tracks which often make me wonder about their stories. There are those huge electronic grids the rows of which go till the horizon. And those hidden shrines and ruins of some small temple hidden beyond the dense wilderness.

All this raises just one urge inside of me and that is to know about their stories. Stories of those farmers who have ploughed all those fields, about those who used to dwell in those abandoned, ruined dwellings and about the million others who walk those small muddy roads, who live beyond the small stations beyond which I cannot see. I wish someone could tell me. I wish Ruskin Bond could tell me.



Today I feel as if I have lost a part of me. I try searching it, but the search bears no fruit. I have been making these efforts for a long time now and I keep failing and today I feel a strong bitter twinge that has my heart in some kind of clutches. It squishes my heart and I can literally feel it.
Yes I mean it when I say that I can literally feel it. I have lost my stories. I have lost the verses of my poetry. I have settled myself in a mediocrity from where my subconscious and conscious don’t seem to be coming out. Is it somekind of writer’s block? But am I even one?


Start writing again eh?
But what should I write about? It all feels empty in there. Or may be I am just a sad writer. As in, I write only when I am depressed or in going through a painful phase. That is not the quality of a good writer. That is how attention seekers write.

Chuck it. Someone yesterday told me I have this bad habit of deprecating myself. And I guess I am onto it again.

I have picked up this space after a really long time. A lot has happened in this long time. A lot of travelling has happened. A lot of shopping has happened. A lot of phone calls, a lot of messaging, a lot of crying, a lot of bonding, a lot of many things has happened since the last time I was here. And in other news I also got married.

No I am not going to preach about married life over here. I feel its a person’s very own experience and I have no rights to incline them to think in any which way about marriage. So let us just not dwell over that. Yes, there are a lot of experiences. A lot of feelings too. But once again I choose to keep them to myself. I may be saying that I am not putting it here because I don’t want to cloud anyone’s judgment but it can also be because I don’t have much to write about it yet. Or may be everything is just too haphazard in there that I am finding it difficult to give them a proper shape.

Haphazard – this has got to be my favourite word. Whether happy or sad, turbulent or calm, this is one word which never fails to describe the state of my mind. I have got to find another word. Or else I am just going to turn into a monotone soon.

I have been doing a lot of reading off late. Thanks to a very spl gift from him. Hmmmm… I guess now I have to give him a name. I don’t want to call him S, although his name starts with S. Shall we call him Mister or will it be just too OTT? Ok let’s call him BF. Best friend, boy friend or may be both. So for all purpose, from now on whenever I mention BF/Bf/bf and unless otherwise specified, it will refer to the one I am married to.

It’s almost been 3 months since we got married. And things and me in particular have been better. I have been travelling a lot. And I am in Bangalore to finally wind up everything so that I can give a proper kickstart to my life in my new hometown now. I have lots of new friends to make. I have a few old ones to be mended. And I have to give chance to the new me.

The new me? She is in a new place. A very busy one on that. It scares her. So she keeps hiding inside the house all the time. But she has to get out, otherwise how will she survive. So I have to probably make her recollect the stories of her initial struggle and remind her that she is not as coward as she makes herself to believe. Moreover it is a life that she chose for herself so she should be ready to face up to it.

She is once again the girl in the new city.  She has to survive. She has to live. And she has to do it fearlessly. Just the way she kickstarted it all. Wish her luck.

Nan: Kya haal hai?
Me: Haal toh sensex jeisa ho gaya hai bhai?
Nan: Hain! Matlab?
Me: Haal mood pe depend karta hai aur mood sensex ki tarah upar niche hota rehta hai.
Nan: Toh abhi mood ka sensex high pe hai ki low pe?
Me: Thode der pehle low tha. Ab recover kar raha hai.


Disconnect and you shall set yourself free.

Off late, I get this urge of throwing away my cell phone. Once considered a luxury, the present-day symbol of status, in my opinion, is the cause of all our problems today. Until we have this damned gadget in our hand, we can never gain that peace we so desperately seek.

Today I tried disconnecting. I went for a stroll and made sure to not carry my cell phone. The cautious head said “Oh what if you get some urgent call? What if after you return you find that your family is in a state of panic just because they couldn’t reach you? You know how they are. What if this happens or what if that happens?” I still stuck with my decision of leaving it. Then my cautious mind resorted to more alluring temptations. “What if you struck upon an idea of a story? What if you see something that you want to click? What if you want to communicate with someone?” I became stubborn and despite my mind making all these noises, I walked off.

My mind is one fussy kid who really doesn’t know what it wants. It is fickle. One moment it wants something and in the next it wants something totally opposite. It is really a task to tame it and quiet it. But today I found the key. I disconnected. I did it against the will of my mind.

In the beginning, it whined a little. Tried to distract me, tried to trouble me with alarming thoughts. Then I gave it his favorite lollipop. A bookshop. A quaint little peaceful bookshop. I touched the books. Several of them and then I sat and read three stories – two of Ruskin Bond and one of Anton Chekov. I had previously read one of Ruskin Bond’s story and the Anton Chekov story.

“What is your dream?” a story by Ruskin Bond which I had read long back. A very small story. This story had not made much of an impact when I had read it the first time. But today I read it in a totally different light. Today I took it all and let it seep into the deepest trenches of my existence. It was as if fate had conspired me to read it again. I love the works of Ruskin Bond. He is my favorite author. Today I fell more in love with his words. Today I disconnected and got connected to a love long forgotten.

The second story – “The Bet” by Anton Chekov. I remember reading this story when I was a school kid. I had loved this story from the first read. There were many stories that i read as a child, but there are three stories that have remained with me. These were “The Bet” by Anton Chekov, “The Gift of Magi” by O’ Henry, and “Love Across the Salt Desert” by Keki N. Daruwalla.

It had been long since I had read these stories. Years long. And today, by some divine conspiracy I stumbled upon this thin collection of short stories by Anton Chekov and the first name in the content list was “The Bet”. And that was how I revisited a lost love.

Somehow both stories spoke of freedom. Each spoke of freedom in totally contrasting contexts. But the eventuality was that they spoke of freedom. I don’t know if it’s my current state that is reading too much into mundane things, but I want to take it as a sign. This disconnection restored my peace. It calmed my restless mind. And here I am back with this menacing gadget, pouring my heart and happiness out.

Yes, there is a beautiful and different kind of happiness in this tranquility. And I am savoring and lapping up every bit of it. I disconnected and i reconnected myself.

“live long my friend,be wise and strong, but do not take from any man his song” ~ Ruskin Bond (What is your dream?)

Ms. Needy

I am a basket case, a bundle of nerves. And for me need for the hour is to have someone around me who would probably give me a hug or two and speak to me reassuring words. I keep checking my phone with anticipation that whether there is any message from anyone which would lift my spirits up. Which would diminish this stress in my back and my neck and which would stop this relentless yawning that usually happens when I am tensed and stressed.

But, it doesn’t happen that way. I am perhaps being too needy and whiny. I need to understand that people have work. I need to understand that I cannot be the center of attention for everyone all the time. I need to understand that I should also concentrate on my work. There is a time for everything. I am not the only person struggling with circumstances. Why do I feel like getting drunk in the middle of the day? Why do I feel like just sleeping and sleeping and not waking up unless all the problems are over? Why my breathing is labored?

I have to understand that nothing in life comes simple. Everything you want comes at a price. And what I want this time is very costly. But I have committed to pay the price. And I have not given myself the option of turning back. No there won’t be any turning back.

So for now what I will do is I will vomit all of it out here and I will concentrate on my work. I will get busy with my work, finish the required target. I will grab a cup of coffee or tea with colleagues in some time and have a bite of that yummy corn sandwich and I will again come back and finish my work. After leaving I will go and meet my friends. It is Queen’s birthday today. I have to be happy for her. It is her day and I have to smile for her. And I have to genuinely be happy for her and not fake a smile. I will not get these moments again. I know there is handful of them left with me. So I have to deliberately make an attempt to savor each and every second and moment.

I have to believe that the future is going to be fine. Yes there will be storms to face but I am not alone. My anchor is going to be there with me. There is a family who is waiting for me with open arms and which has promised to stand by me and protect me. So I have got to be happy for them. That is the least I can do for them which is give them a person who is not as damaged as I am now.

Which side to go?

I am constantly jostling the thought that may be I am cheating two sides here. Two sides who love me like anything and who only wish the best for me. I am constantly fighting that feeling of guilt and dishonesty. Again I am at crossroads of life where I have to make choices, where I need to make decisions. I have to choose between the two sides. And I suck at making decisions.
I have no clue which side to choose. I have a mental checklist of the pros and cons. While there is no guarantee for the pros for either of the choices. The cons seem pretty far-reaching and disturbing. And that is what is confusing me, terrifying me more.
I really need someone, someone unbiased, someone totally unrelated to help me make the decision. To tell me that the cons aren’t as scary as they seem to be. To give me enough strength to take that leap of faith.
At times I wonder, is what I am fighting for is actual, real love or is it the manifestation of long suppressed rebellion. Is it something that I really want or something that I am fighting just for the heck of proving my point or having my way.
I know if you read this you will be hurt. But I really cant help not thinking this.


I am living in a constant fear. Terror actually. It is there throbbing with my heart. It rises with the rising sun and diminishes as the day goes by. But it never goes. It haunts me in my dreams too. Nothing good is happening. Not even in my dreams. Everyday I wake up scared. I am becoming paranoid.

This terror heightens when I am in proximity of certain people. Certain people who claim they are my family. Who claim they are my blood. But still this terror heightens when they are nearby. They are not aware but mere their sight makes me hyperventilate. My appetite goes for a toss. It becomes difficult for me to swallow even my most favourite food. And this terror is growing everyday.

I am waiting. Trying to calm myself down, waiting for the day when help will arrive. When someone would rescue me. This is definitely not my comfort zone. But I read somewhere that success lies just outside your comfort zone. But why do I find myself weak. I dont want to become weak. I want to become strong.

I am afraid of questions. They question each and everything about me. I have no answers to their questions. They question why I feel what I feel. When I try to answer, they snub me because my answers are not what they want to hear. They want to know the reasons on the condition that the reasons suit their standards. They have physically cut me off from my world. And in their world, I can feel my bones trembling inside of my flesh. Bones of my legs, bones of my hands. Even as I type this, my fingers are shaking.

…and where do i begin?

I stare at the blinking cursor my mind devoid of all that I wanted to put here. I start typing with a hope that maybe as I start typing something will strike me and I will start writing. But nothing still. There is an intrusion. I panic a little. I stop. But then I remind myself that this needs to be done.

I want to reach you. I have no idea that whether I will be able to do it or not through this. No one should know about this. This time I am going to be extra cautious. Be extra wary. Strict anonymity.

I am in captivity. It is a strange captivity. There are four walls. There are more walls than those four walls. Walls inside of me. Walls that are coming up brick by brick. And one of these days either of the two things will happen. Either these walls will succumb me and I will give up my being to them or someday I will gather enough strength, enough courage and will break these walls and runaway. Runaway from this captivity.

I have no clue what I am doing. Whether what I am doing is right or wrong? I have no answer to the million questions that keep raging inside my head. At times in my conscious, other times in my sub-conscious. They never go away. They never go silent. It’s just that their volume at times increase and at times decrease.

Intruders are here again. I can have no peace. I live in a world where intrusion is masked by the name of concern. They watch me. they watch me all the time. They want to read my words. I don’t want them to. They read me and that is one of the reasons that they have made me captive here. They don’t get me. They just don’t understand me. they cannot let me have my space. And I am suffocating. Their embraces smother me. Their smiles embitter me. Their reasons enrage me.


These days I feel like screaming at people. I want to scream my rage out at those whom I have never screamed at. People, who come scream at me whenever they want, who dump all their rage on me and go away. All I do is listen to them silently, speak to them softly with a hope that may be, may be my calmness would help me ward off their rage, may be it will help them calm down too and understand what I feel. I understand their concerns, I understand their anxieties. But are they even trying to understand me?

I have a lot to say. But I am not able to. I thought maybe I’ll write it all down here. But this place isn’t safe anymore too. And it saddens me. I dunno whom to blame. I feel like running away from everyone. Probably end myself so that it can be end of all my miseries. But I will not do that. I can’t give up this time. I want to live. All I want is I want to live it the way I want to and not in someone else’s way. I need strength. I have a lot of fight to put up. I am breaking every moment. But I can’t afford to. I may cry right now. I am trying hard to hold back my tears from escaping my eyes.

I am having trouble accepting the fact that I cannot keep everyone happy. But am I wrong to expect that maybe I can convince them and in the end all be happy? I don’t want to harm them. I love them a lot. But they think I don’t, just because a chose a different lifestyle for myself. Oh God! Why is it all so difficult? Cant I just fast forward my life and see what is going to happen? The anxiety is killing me.