Reflections, observations, expression

Medium is the new medium!

Medium Profile

Yes, I have jumped the Medium bandwagon. I have been following Medium for a really long time. Plain, crisp typography, focus on the content, community of prolific and young talented writers – what’s not to like! And over the last few months, I have taken to Medium for expression. Because in the end, what matters the most is not just the writing, but what you change by it. A design is great not because it looks great, but because it makes someone’s life better. A writing becomes great not because of extraordinary vocabulary of the writer, or because of spotless grammar and composition, but it becomes a great piece when it adds value to someone’s life. And you can only add value, when you reach out to people.

And what better way to reach out than participate in a growing community where everyone shares not for advertising revenue or monetary gains, but for the sake of sharing.

So give it a shot too. And visit me on Medium


From the passenger seat

On a fresco of shimmering city lights
A reflection, a countenance divine.
Fleeting, fading, as my eyes grow wary
Of holding on, to a memory undying.

Borrowed with gratitude from the internet. Courtesy "theelectricspark".

Borrowed with gratitude from the internet. Courtesy “theelectricspark”.

Of gaps and voids

Have you ever felt it?

An emptiness, between your lungs…
Not the kind turned trite
By singers and writers and actors –
The plebiscitarian elite.

But an emptiness, an absence.
Feeling not being; rather a lack –
of existence.


But what’s amiss?
There’s breath, there is a beat.
The rhythm of a pump
still heard underneath.

And still it gnaws
Clinging, cringing, from the inside
As if with claws –

That hole

But the world goes on.
And so do I, I navigate the tart.
A wave, A hi
A fake smile over an empty heart.

What is it that I miss?
I fumble and fret, under the cracks,
And I stare down the abyss.


Holding on, and letting go…

“Life is a balance between holding on and letting go”
-Keith Urban

Remember the feeling when you come across a quote and feel stupefied for a split-second wondering how can something be so goddamn accurate?

When I first heard this one, it was one of those times.

I have often wondered, the dilemma between holding on and moving on. The dangerous choice we all have to make at different points in our life. At times, there is not really a choice. We know it’s time to move on, howsoever hard it might be. Leaving college? Leaving your high school girlfriend? I know you had that feeling some point in your life. I know it wasn’t easy. But the easy part was, it wasn’t a choice.

The more difficult ones come when we do have a choice. What do you do then? When you are losing hope but are not sure if you should cling on just a little harder, push a little further, tug at it just one more time? What if that last effort made all the difference? Well it is true that it is this hope which keeps all the hopeless romances and the dimwitted infatuations out there running (:P), but it also a fact that sometimes, we do need to do that. To hold on. To cling on. Especially if you have short fuse, maybe it’s time to recheck your decision. :P

I have searched for an answer. How do you know? The truth is, I couldn’t find one. It’s a difficult choice alright, the answer to which only you can find. Because the truth is, at the end of the day, you know. Some part inside of you knows. But at times we try to ignore that choice because that’s the harder path. Sometimes moving on is just too difficult, and sometimes, we just don’t want to walk that extra mile. So feeling lost? Listen hard, real hard. The answer lies within.

A kiss, a lie – I

We had lived in that shaggy three floored building for around three years. It wasn’t state-of-art, but it was situated in one of the best places to live in the city. The owners were too stingy to put in any money towards renovation, but it did make living cheaper, and it suited us just fine. And amidst peeling walls, and miserly landowners, the terrace was the best thing in the whole building. It was the place where pigeons would flock every afternoon, and feeding them became my post-lunch ritual. My brother loved planting all sorts of flowers, and in the winters, the terrace would transform into a multi-colored rooftop garden, and even when it wasn’t December, evening strolls overlooking the park in front was enough to put my daylong troubles to trash.

Imagine my dismay when my landowners decided to cover up half of that area to a build a new apartment. It was my place of pilgrimage, my personal escape land. But it was done, and then some tenants came, some students of a junior class. The city was known to have a certain allure for students wide and far. We went along fine, and the rest of the terrace was open, which was good enough for me. But then after six months or so, they left. And the apartment was empty again.

How many times have you traveled alone in a train, hoping you would find a beautiful girl traveling in the same compartment? Or hoped that a pretty lady would walk up to occupy the empty seat next to you in a flight? Well, it happens. And to all girls, don’t call it sick, we boys just happen to be exceedingly optimistic!

Anyways, so it happens, when you have an empty apartment next to you, you sometimes wonder if by some good fortune a pretty girl would be a member of the next tenant family. And so I did at that time. But I knew it was just a fantasy. And I was prepared for even a hideous balding fat guy without television issues.

One day, I came back from school, and heard it’s occupied. A mother and a daughter. Must be some nerdy girl with big, black spectacles, I said to myself. But that evening, when I went out for my evening stroll, there she was, standing against the railing, clad in a simple Indian salwar-suit. Wind was flowing gently, and it seemed to stroke her long, flowing hair, making the strands above her left ear go back and forth in lovely motions. And then she turned, and I saw those eyes for the first time. Big, not intimidating big, but beautifully big, and dark, as if it contained a certain depth you couldn’t fathom. Her skin was a certain shade of brown, chestnut maybe, and she had a real pretty nose, which seemed to pull your eyes for no obvious reason! And then she said something, a little hi maybe, and all I could hear coming out of my mouth in reply was a muffled stream of garbled sounds!

Little could I have known, that four months from then, she was to become the girl I would share my first kiss with.

The gift of imagination

Just two days from this day, I stumbled across Pottermore. For those who don’t know, it’s something started by J.K.Rowling. A new way of telling the stories again. But don’t even think about comparing it with the books or the movies. It is not in that league. But for diehard fans like me, it is hard to ignore any new way to reconnect with that magic!

Well talk about “reconnecting”! By the time I was done with it, so many countless memories came tumbling down. The whole saga around Harry Potter, my first book, my first movie, the excitement in the air every time a new book came about, the whole enchantment Harry (and Hermione!) had over all of us! With it, memories of the magical part of my childhood came around to stare me in the face. The next thing I did? Downloaded and sat through the entire movie series, of course!

And just yesterday, I was talking to a friend about this. About my, well, re-ignited passion for the fantastic world of Harry Potter. And she asked, why go back and dwell in a totally fictitious imaginary world? Is it your way to escape, escape the real world? Later that night, I kept thinking, was it? Maybe it was. But then, why shouldn’t I? I mean, we live in the real world, see it, feel it, suffer it, believe it, every single day. If I do get an opportunity, why shouldn’t I try to escape into a different world, a new world, away from everything else, even if for a short while?

Opportunity. Yes, all of us have that opportunity. All of us, have a gift. The gift, to imagine. We have the power to create worlds, exotic, extraordinary worlds, which we have never seen anywhere before. The power to escape, escape a world we have to live in, into a world we have a privilege to create, alter and dwell in. Back when I was smaller, where did my imagination not take me? From castles in snow clad mountains, to futuristic cities, from space shuttles in space, to exotic deserts in Africa. One moment fighting at the battle lines in the second world war, the next, walking out to bat amidst a roaring stadium crowd. Just name it. Weird, extraordinary, impossible, you can call them what you want, but my imagination has taken me for rides I can never cease to get amazed at.

I have often had this feeling, this strange longing, when I saw people gifted with creative abilities from the start. People with natural, innate talent. People, who could play music since they were kids; people, who could handle the paintbrush before they could handle a toothbrush. I would often ask, what do I have? And just when I was thinking about my childhood, I realized. That yes, I too had a gift, the gift to imagine. And I am not saying that it’s something unique, I think most of us have it, if not all. But that does not alter the value of the gift that it is, does it? Imagination is the fuel of creativity. And wouldn’t life be all dull and boring without the colors of creativity?

Unfortunately, imagination is perhaps one of the many wonderful things that we start losing once we march into adulthood. No I am not going on to write another paragraph on how I wish I could be a child again. No. I do not believe in running away from responsibilities, nor in wishing for what is never an option. But growing up doesn’t mean we have to throw away the gifts we had when we were little. If anything, I find imagination more valuable now than ever. Back then, it was a luxury, but now, it’s also an opportunity, a key, a key to escape. And everybody loves a little escape every now and then. Don’t you?

The thing about crushes

Weird things they are, our crushes. At one moment, the world seems to belittle at the feet of that special someone. Years pass, and all we can do is laugh at our stupidity when we were small. But don’t you sometimes wonder, was it all but stupidity? Wonder, what if you had manned up, and gone to her. Wonder, what if, she had replied with her eyes what her lips couldn’t tell. Wonder, if you would remember it any different if it had not ended how it did, as a crush.

How do separate an infatuation, with your first love? What makes you say that your high school girlfriend was your first love, and not the cute girl you used to admire when you were in class 7? If there is indeed a difference, where is that iron wall which divides genuine love interests from childhood infatuations? Does it appear as you go to high school? Or when you enter college? Most people would probably reply it’s when you are old enough by societal standards to be called “matured”. But do you really get “matured” enough? Does crossing that invisible barrier make you wise? If yes, then why don’t all adults have successful relationships?

What am I getting at? To tell the truth, even I am not sure! But I do feel sometimes that love is overrated, and infatuations, under! Yes it’s true that as time passes, your perception of your childhood interests changes by leaps and bounds. The attraction vanishes. But the very fact that this attraction was young and naïve makes it so fascinating, so important. Every such crush tells you something. Something which blew you away when you were young, unadulterated. But even beyond that, the best part of remembering any crush, is actually the memories associated with that time.

The way your eyes followed her around, almost as if acting on their own, and how they would scurry away the moment she turned around! The way your muscles seemed to tighten when she appeared coming your way, the choking up of words when she came to talk, the ecstasy when she smiled at you or came to shake your hands! And not mention those numerous tiny moments associated with her you never seem to shake, moments, which in any other case would have faded away in the humdrum of life. Moments which take you back in time, to a beautiful place, to a beautiful time, which is yours and only yours to relive!

Love, infatuation, lust. These are complex terms, there is no arguing against that. But why waste time defining terms and drawing lines, while we can enjoy what we have, and relish what we had?

On weather tonight

Dark sky,
orange glow,
cool breeze
and an emptiness below.

Of mirrors and reflections – I

She is but my reflection, I am but hers.
But reflections are never meant to be together,
between them, there shall always be mirrors.

A random musing

What journeys we undertake,
What paths do we tread?
Expected, unexpected, exciting or bleak
Nothing matters when destination is all you seek.

A shot taken during our project