The friend.

I have a friend who doesn’t know why, in a matter of seconds, she wants to leave wherever she is, whatever she’s doing, and teleport to a kinder memory.
A friend who doesn’t know how to explain herself because within minutes those closest to her, appear to be clad in masks of judgement.
A friend who knows she’s loved. Who knows it’s all in her head. A friend who can’t help herself.
A friend who breaks quite often.
A friend who cries easily.
A friend who either sleeps a lot, to avoid as much of human interaction as possible; or not at all, to keep the monsters at bay.
A friend who hates being inside those four walls, but the comfort of isolation is a horrifyingly beautiful thing.
A friend who doesn’t know how to apologise for her head. Or if she should apologise in the first place.
Is that reason enough?
“I’m sorry for today, my head was extra bitchy.”
My friend who won’t be taken seriously by the elders. Because “kids of today’s generation have learnt fancy words like anxiety, depression, hypertension.” “Blame their phones and their internet.” “Just excuses to gain attention.” “I feel bad for her parents.”

So many reasons to crawl back inside those four walls.

My friend, who doesn’t know how to talk about her mind to the ones she loves except maybe saying, “I have a friend…”



Here’s the final chapter,
Here’s the last story.
A cheater remains a liar,
And an ending isn’t always as bitter.

With all the love in my heart, I have just one sincere request to those who still wait for a reason.
That person didn’t get a letter to Hogwarts, they’re not magic. That person isn’t a high functioning sociopath, neither is that person the lead singer of a boy band. What I fail to see is your obsession with somebody who isn’t a wizard, a detective or Justin Timberlake.
You’re venting out about an insignificant, insecure, too-smart-for-reality, foolish little turd who doesn’t even know the difference between regardless and irregardless. And just like one, this person too isn’t actually correct.
Pick up a dictionary, find the words that best suit you.
Here’s a tip, it’s the opposite of the words you’ve been recently accused of.
Once you’ve got your words, never listen to a temporary glitch.

Thus ends the reign of turds.


Buzzz. Buzzz. Buzzz.
The familiar sound of winning a prediction which you hoped would not come true.
Another desperate attempt at freedom.
Another hasty note on emotions that can’t catch a break.
Another promise blurred out.
Another feather in the cap of good art based on broken minds.
Another record of your actions.
Another chance wrongfully spared.
Another blocked call.

Battery 1%
What a wonderful sight.


Ladies, from one suffering soul to another, leave him.
Leave his insecurities, his accusations, his pretence of maturity which is galaxies away from him.
Leave his ever doubting fingers always pointed at you.
Leave his sly nose always digging into your business.
Leave his deadly mouth that clouds your own judgement of whether you are at fault to begin with. 
Leave his taunts, talks and thoughts.
Leave his sad eyes which see a reality of your worst monsters, which are never there to begin with.
Leave his repetitive rancour.
Leave his constant conjecture.
Leave his glass empty.

Dear Monster,

Thank you, my little monster. I realized that men aren’t the only contenders who strive to turn every hair on your head grey. Women are just the same. It’s only human actually. And what a damper that this is the species we have to love.

Flaws become favourites, acceptance cohere into a compromise and the best of the lot, happiness is measured in scales of Fuck ups vs. ‘Social media post’ worthy.

Hello. You judgemental lot, the pick-what-fits-the-sitch clique, finding the right moment to kick you while you dream and push you so far into the ground that you cannot even fathom to revsit that reverie.
I have just one question for you lot, aren’t you bored? Isn’t there a match of uno that you can host amongst your instabilities? Why caper with the most foolish asset that a human is blessed/cursed with?

Why not let us live, love, and long for a dream to come true? Isn’t it bad enough that we have alarms that wake us up to a reality that we wish would magically morph into that of another’s?

Well monster, thank you for reminding me that this isn’t a world of Grus and Megaminds. We are swamped with Davy Jones, Hims, Katz, and the like.

Sleep well, check in the cupboard once.


I am 24 years old. I have been in love a handful of times. Now that either makes me gullible or completely clueless about what “love” is. No, this isn’t a rant about how I’m “allergic” to that word/emotion, nor is this about venting out without commas trying to put across a point that many have been through and many are still trying to figure out what certain actions mean.
To those who have read my post so far, this is an account of something that is on a constant loop in my so called, shit dripped love life. My complain today is about Brutally Selfish Insecurities that some try to label as “love”.

Hi. All I have to ask is this, what’s the need to squeeze in words like love, relationship, forever, commitment, exclusively, always, etc; when what you truly mean is, “Till your affection is needed to heal my own overgrown, chidlike, but heinously hopped up on steroids Ego.”

Why put a person through fits of unconditional care for somebody when you know you’re just a temporary itch and it’s as one sided as what Gunther felt for Rachel?!

Why not be brave and solve your own problems without needing the comfort and reassurance from a person you’ll forget once your mind gets rewired?

And now, to those who keep running back into that burning house, STOP. Screw your excuses.
They do not inspire art or literature, they do not make for great material, they do not help you in any way. No. For every single sentence you have defending their actions, you my friend are an idiot.
Love, is not pain. Love, is not a test of time, distance, velocity or whatever crap the modern day films are feeding you.
Love, is simple.

So, hang up. They’re not even listening.

The reasons we need.


In a world where we have been continuously narrated that, “It’s all in your head”, or, “just try being happy”, and the best of the lot, “depression is a state of mind.” Well, here’s a little light on that enormously misunderstood subject: Do not comment on something you do not have the faintest idea about. Not only do you make yourself look like an idiot you also paint someone else who has spent every morning trying to paste a smile on a face as an “idiot”.

I have been on the receiving end of many ignorant yet clever and helpful to themselves, advice. But in that massive haystack of nothing less than self consciousness and self loathing, feeling nothing short of being misunderstood and tagged as an “attention seeker,” “cry baby”, “over-thinker” and much more; I found one microscopic needle. It was simple. And in my case, an approach that was surprisingly effective. The task was to list down reasons to live. Although it seemed utterly hopeless at that moment, I’m pleasantly shocked to say that, I surprised myself.

I live because I love dogs. I live because I want to eat my favourite food. I live because I want to write a piece that will make my species smile. I live because I like it when my favorite people smile. I live because I do not know how many more people need me to make them smile. I live because I’m a dreamer. I live because I am comfortable in my skin, regardless of what is being thrown at my insecurities. I live because I know of at least one person who will cry because I was standing there in front of them when they least expected it. I live because I matter to others. I live because I’m not selfish enough to hurt others by giving up. I live because I love dogs.

There are so many of us out there who cannot fathom to make this list. It is not an easy task my friend. But start. Start with what you love- a blanket, a quote, an old t-shirt, an essay that had once giving your dreams flight. Start. It might remind you of times you had once forgotten or shunned aside thinking they’re worthless.

I live to write. For an audience I have not met. On rainy evenings with songs by Eddie Vedder keeping  me company.