Winter says,

IMG_20170112_205838_784.jpg

My fingers feel flowers;

Rusted swing chains;

Standard, pale, blue poles;

The touch of people who stay,

But they return to emptiness.

I walk along city streets

And broken pavements which

Water conversations for two

But the darkness is haunting.

The moon asks me for you.

I remember those rough hands;

Lines that gave you the freedom to fly.

I remember travelling over them,

Seeing my world within their grasp-

With dreams to hold and a future

Too beautiful to be mundane at all.

“Where are you, darling?” again,

The winds whistle to me.

I look at the stars, the deep blue sky

Ceilings seem too far-I don’t know why

My hands are clueless, catching misery.
Lines blurry, confused, craving, today.

“But wait for the interval!” I fervently say.

The lens will show me scaling, anon!

Threads will hold each other tight and

Rush to make rough, familial vines,

You watch! I’ll sail over winds and oceans.

I’ll chase the sun! I’ll befriend the trees.

The moment winter enters my skin,

Telling me, “Open your eyes and

Just see yourself awake, for once.”

~~~

Inspired by the movie La La Land! 🙂

No more death, please


Little deaths follow my shadows.

Corpses of high hopes,

Funerals of pleasure,

Stinking murders of us.

But take a knife

Tell me to kill again.

The flavours of death don’t confuse me

Babe,

I simply crave for the cooking

I remember when times were fresh

Memories were brewing

Our special places were savoured.

Now all I see is a microwave.

It stares me in the face,

Like those horror movies

And I’m screaming inside

The pleasure is too vivid,

The moment too real.

I’m not ready to feel it again

History is frozen in the present.

And I’m not ready for warmth, today

Rewind, rewind, rewind

Play, but just don’t.

Let’s move to the future please,

Stale is not worth us

I want to breathe again.

Fresh air, Mumbai.

I want home again.

Give me home again.

 

A letter for the love of my life

I wish forgetting you was like cleaning an easy stain on my favourite shirt,

But you don’t stop the affect like a good stain.

You’re more like the dark rectangle on my wall where that photo frame once was:

Impossible to merge with the present.

The dust on the bookshelves reminds me of the beautiful care in you

And so does the empty bed.

You never forget to leave an impression, don’t you?

 

You always had that style

Ruling over my heart in college too

You stained my soul with love.

Once there, painted all over with colour

Marriage, kids, living together.

 

People look at me today like a sad old man subject to life’s miseries

But darling I still have that poetry in me you would love.

I still go to Natural’s for a midnight treat but now I order only one scoop,

I wish you were there to finish another

I promise I wouldn’t have complained like I usually did when you were here.

I wish you could come back

 

Here I am, doing it again,

I told my doctor I wouldn’t wish unreasonable things:

For you to be back and for me to be the same without you.

Sorry.

 

So, getting to the point.

I’m writing in memory of the lovely girl with whom I aged and faced life.

The girl that showed me how wonderful life can get

Even when it just doesn’t seem to get any better

I’m promising her that I’m going to respect that and learn from it

I’m going to fight depression and stop being a cliché

(We never liked the mainstream anyway.)

My days are still as tinted with you

As they were before.

I still love you and forgive me for talking about trying to remove your stain.

Your stain is in the deepest part of what makes me the person I am.

Your stain is a reminder of beauty-

Impossibly pure beauty- that once garnished my life.

Yes, I have become a romantic as you suspected I would

(Remember when I would laugh at cheesy posts like these? Well, life pays back.)

And I thank you for that.

 

Yours forever.

 

(I’m still jealous that you got to know what death is like, before I did

And yes, yes, I will stop flirting with the young lady that stays across the road:

I never meant anything serious,

She still misses your morning chai.)

 

~~~

Inspired by the emotions of the main character in the movie ‘Madaari’, for his lost child.

Thoughts before a journey

Hey beautiful,

Today, I just want to talk about life, unlike my usual posts here. It’s pretty queer, the situation. My life is going pretty good, and some might even say that it’s amazing but I don’t feel amazing, lately. I think it’s the mixed emotion of feeling nostalgic and a little scared and excited and useless.

Let me give you some backstory here. I am 18 years old, and going to move to my college’s residential campus in 22 days. I have never lived away from home, without my parents for longer than a week so the mere situation freaks me out. I’m really looking forward to the entire independence of it all, but the nervousness right now is like the 2 minutes before a performance.

I have got to know of such amazing people that will be at college so it is really exciting but then again, will I make a good group of friends? Then again, is having a group of friends more important than having many, different friends like I have had till now? I don’t know.

The concept of me living on my own interests me because at home, I’m a messy person and those who suffer from this are really only my family;I don’t mind the mess as long as I clean it soon enough. Will this magically change once I’m in college and my frustrated grandmother doesn’t clean up my bed? I don’t know.
Yesterday, I went to buy some stuff for college and amidst the soap holder and cleaning brush, the shopkeeper asked me if I wanted a rolling pin to make dough, for rotiI felt like I was settling down in a new house or something. “No, OF COURSE not, I don’t need a rolling pin. I’m going to college, not settling down,” I told him, half-scared, half-amused.

Apart from the social factor of living somewhere away from home, the academics in my college excites me. Being the competitive person I am, I’m waiting to see the classroom atmosphere of my college. Yet, I have this lingering debate in my head-what if I’m not good enough for it, or even to compete with it? What if my mental faculties have a dead end somewhere? I rebuttal this with my belief that if really want to do well at something, I will never really give up. Hopefully, this belief stays in those moments of doubt.

I also feel a little useless at this point because I wish I did more with my time. Vacations are “meant” for chilling out but really, what am I doing with these moments of my life when I’m binge-watching Community and eating Chocos till 3 in the morning? I’m doing a few projects but I feel like I’m not doing enough. Maybe the solution is that I need to start journaling again. Yeah I need to do that.

So this is where I am at, standing at the edge of my bed, looking at my unopened empty suitcase, waiting to see if I’m ready to take on the excitement and leave the nervousness for a few days before I leave. Holding one emotion of hope for a good journey sounds like a good idea for me right now.

Yeah, I think I will open my cupboard and start filling the suitcase now.

Until next time,
Charuvi.

My hairstylist.

🎶

I look at her beauty,

Not just simply her body:

I see the attitude on her lips,

A fullness in that pink;

The risk in her hair,

A dash of electric blue;

The bold on her eyes-

More than a look, really:

The daunting played by black coal.

I see through the facade now

 

I see her past-

Rotting away in a cage of misery,

Sickening in the mirage of beauty

 

How could she have allowed herself to live thus?

How could she have let situations kill her?

 

I see her beauty in that resolve

And for the hundredth time,

I appreciate it,

I beautify it,

I love it.
And I hope for more of it.

To chances in life

Here I am,
Red lipstick; fun earrings
And there he is,
A question mark.

Will it go as planned?
Is this what I had expected it to be?

Or am I to be deceived?

 

The conversations of yesterday determined my today,

But my today determines my tomorrow!

I really hope I’m not deceived,

Yet, difficulties find myself secretly hoping I am.

 

This tragedy and comedy of hope and betrayal is life long,

I perceive with a sigh,

But it’s beautiful.

 

It’s beautiful because

People are always deceptive but situations are intelligent

They give you different kinds of learning;

They teach you to love the wait,

Hope for the best,

And be glad situations outsmarted your quirky

little

imagination.

DTR is difficult.

No one, I repeat, NO ONE is selfless in everyday communication. Unless of course, if they have reached a stage of self-actualisation. And then too, only maybe.
So here goes my story.

Today she thinks of her desires as unrequited
But how could she have expected another human to be selfless?
Expected him to love her because she loved him and to think about love the way she understood it?
She couldn’t. Yet, love made her mind think differently.
Soon, the reality hit, that she knew
That she didn’t know him.
He was probably busy:a stranger fulfilling
His desires of affiliation and affection.
And she was only a means to an end.
So he was probably doing it all for his own purpose.
And the poetry that came from him was in most probability his effort to satiate. His effort to flatter. And to feel loved. And to give love.
And she was stupid enough to exaggerate his actions so much like the beautiful yet slightly deceiving words of a poem.
Sadly, this story would end,
Not in the myriad ways she conceived it to end-
On their last date, dared to kiss
In a movie, with hands brushing
On a chance of a move,
When he realised that he loved her,
BUT in the truth is that
She MUST be without him.
Because he WILL be gone.
It’s like one of the books she read:
Faintly brown pages leaving her heart wrenched in desire and hope.
And it would hurt as she thought, talked and moved
It would hurt her that she, the Goddess of her world,
Could have been so painfully wrong in her idea of how congruent they were.
In the end, it was just a simple mistake,
They had different visions for defining the relationship. For the DTR.
And with that he took her hopes of love away for the second time.

The buzzfeed video that proved to be an inspiration for the end of this story and for this title: