I was working on something important. And on a deadline. Suddenly my phone beeped. It was a friend returning a message from last night. “I’m doing great! How’re you? Did you hear about X?”


(54 minutes later)

“She’s getting married.”



Of Vicissitudes and Curses and Fucks

Persona de scientifica.  I sometimes wonder if all of this dates back to the same humanitarian ages where I’d been inhuman, and childish and cursed. I am all scientific I know. Yet, the thoughts of the parts of the universe being fabricated by acts of faith never seem to elude me. I somehow believe in temples not for the magic of God, but for the magic of belief, the magic of positivity. There are fewer things less than my brain cells, that I’m inclined to believe without the rationale, but I just cannot overlook the power of faith whether in one’s ownself or a higher being

I know she’d cursed me. I know I’d been kiddish, but I deserved it, when I think about it now. This is probably a circle of vicissitude. Sure. Probably. The number of fucks I give? Exactly the same as what I’d given back then.

There’s some kind of sinusoidal function defining what kind of feedback loop all these vicissitudes, whatever the fuck that means, entail. And frankly, I have the universe to save. So, maybe this isn’t meant to be. But I’ve got a world to care about. To many legs of infinitesimal sanctity beholden in the feet of the magical whims of our souls. The world I see around me. Is me.

So the number of fucks given? Probably equals the number of times ‘a’ occurs in vicissitude.

That is not me.

Maybe sometime you’ll have to make a decision like that. Sometimes you have to decide what could you set fire to. I had a choice between watching the world burn, or the only thing that wasn’t a part of it anymore; my own being. I’ll be honest. I still care for the world. Despite. I still care for the billions of people who’re fighting each day, believing in the sun that has so far eluded them. I still care. And so I went upstairs. Where there were no more roofs hindering my view of the blue sky full of all those beautiful stars. The same sky. The same stars. I lit up a cigarette, almost choking on the smoke. And I’d be lying if I didn’t hallucinate a little. Soon the pack of cigarettes was over, and I’d moved closer to death. Perhaps faster than the default rate, that is. And in all those moments of flashbacks and cuddling the cool breeze, under the dark blue ceiling, I wasn’t scared one bit. There were scores of emotions and questions. But I was sure of one thing. There was no regret. None. I could only move forward now, but even if I could, I wouldn’t burn the world. Not one part of it. I’d been the bravest I’d been. 

This is going to be difficult. The days just keep hung, as if some spooky smoke descending into the room, making the air heavy and making it increasingly difficult to breathe. And I still can’t figure out. THAT. That is what is so heavy.

It’s like I’ve turned into some kind of liar. Trying to keep everyone at bay. Trying to stop people from worrying. Because people like straight lines. People like clarity. People like prestige. And people care about me. The entire spectrum of living beings, whose feeble fields of gravity constantly touch mine, and never make a noise about how grumpy I am  to them. The beauty of those differentiable field lines, as they seamlessly merge into my soul, bringing me livity, is just too inspiring to be not grateful for. And I might just throw everything way. Because there is no plan. And in all these days, I haven’t been able to figure one out either. It’s just like Clark; Even with all this power….

I feel sad today. And I fear I’ll be sad tomorrow too. And that is not me.

11th January, 2015: I will not be sad. I will not be drunk. I will not let me get rid of me.


I understand.

I understand.

Be the great woman you were born to be. Nothing less. Bye.

Sometimes we just can’t care about people’s feelings. We just have to do what we have to do. Because we must. You were born to be great. I knew it the moment I met you. Of course I wish things turned the way I wanted them to. But the universe is more important than any of us. The gazillion souls starved of hopes of being rescued someday by their own greatness; you were born to be great. Always remember that.


We have come a long way. Changing with each iteration. Climbing and jumping and falling across fences. The so many fences around us. The brick walls that exist. The barbed wires being laid all the time. We’ve changed so much. Raring to go each time we fell. Not hung over our wounds in the glistening years of youngerdom, we have come this far. And we have so further to go. The hundreds of worlds we’ve transitioned in our minds. Our yearn to explore sometimes rivelled by the fear of what we did not know. Forgetting each time we were afraid, that learning to swim by jumping into oceans so vast is what we’ve always done. Our arms growing stronger with each wave, the heart growing mightier and mightier as we sail away from the shore. We were born into the unknown. Our pouches of comfort having shrunk as we aged, in remarkably opposite fashion to the way we learned the unknown seas. And the very fact that we’re an adaptable species has meant we’ve changed each time we swam into those waters.

Today marks a new beginning to an old race. The race to march forward not without the slightest of fears but despite it. The race to find fellow travelers as we reach out for farther skies, in worlds that exist beyond our own minds. Because it never was and never will be, about a single one of us. It will be, about us. How we overcame our diversities and differences in the face of defeat to carry the weight of the human race together, in a complete turnaround of the odds. Because we will have changed. It may not be us who touch parts of the universe where only our minds have ventured. But it will be us who would make way for the ones who do. Because we will have changed. Not for the diversities that have separated us into groups of people fighting together over things so petty in the scheme of the infinity that exists in our lives and beyond, but for the very fundamental fact that unites us. That we’re us. We’re the only humans in the world. And we will change, like we have, to venture into the unknown, finding our greatest strengths and overcoming our deepest fears in the process.

For the infinite worlds that live on the only world we know, we will change. I will change. I will be better tomorrow. So long, 2014.

Best Christmas Ever!

They really didn’t have to do it. These people I hardly know. It was childish innocence. In a city that’s been so stranger, here we were kids again. Amidst all these days of my head falling down onto walls, there was Christmas. When I was just like everyone else. Part of the family I never knew.

They didn’t have to do it. A day, when I forgot all there was to worry in this world. A day full of gifts. The friend of friends I hardly knew, moving mountains. Not a whiff. The smiles in the eyes.

You find love in the unlikeliest of places. The universe cares. And that’s what Christmas brought me.

You’re not alone. Don’t ever forget that. Merry Christmas.


You do not need alcohol. Or substance.

I have never been so wrong. The keyword, is consume. Consume the world. The world. The world that intoxicates you. It is the world that intoxicates you.

The noise in my head. The music all around. The paints of emotions on these walls of the sky. The air that kisses everything I look into. The lights spreading out onto streets from poles perceived ever so dull. The peeks from those curtained windows, caressing the slightest of your peripheral vision. The days that pass, ever so slowly. The sleep that has chosen to sleep with all you hate, leaving you trapped. In a box of all that is yours. All that descends into the grey. The violent shake of the head, whenever an epiphany strikes you. And you smile ever so hard. Consume me. All of me. You’re not listening with your ears anymore. You’ve turned into one of those skin breathing amphibians who hear through their body.

I can almost feel all my muscles in resonance with whatever it is my brain and the aquarium around my head are singing aloud. It’s as if my muscles are dancing like a diaphragm inside my skin. With each stimuli of the touch of the cold air on my face. Bringing in all new images into those handwritten loops of alphabets, making the trip through my blood rippling at petahertz, all the way to the head and back, from the days that went by. I look at them differently each time, the closed and open loops in my handwriting, as if changing each time with the theater I’ve played.

I’m shaking my head to each epiphany. The blonde briddles of hopes that I watch break in each moment. I can’t figure out. I just can’t figure out what my mind is telling me. Seconds of lifetimes, this feeling. Rigged with custards of happiness and joy and strength and might at prime numbered seconds on this timeline. Not a drop of alcohol. Not a mole of substance.

Am I too young?

Consume me. All of me. I am the drug. My own drug.