Story Time

Once upon a time, I spent 120 bucks on a notebook. That was five years ago. Since, I’ve filled that notebook with stories, doodles, confessions, anecdotes and sometimes venting about everything under the sun. That book was meant for a person. One who falls under the “special” category. From the time I turned 18, the “specials” took a new shape and name  annually. I’m not proud, but I do get to share more stories than the regular folk.

So this special person, had me filling in a book with stories of the two of us. Doodles of the two of us. And even the venting was about us.

While writing for around five years one thing became incredibly clear- We are terrible at figuring out what we deserve.

Imagine the universal rule that each person gets a total of 5 temporaries. And the one after that is the real deal. You get all the time you want with those five. Make your memories, make your mistakes. But you’ll have that assurance that after just one more, you hit the jackpot. Or at least what you deserve.

Now you  might say, “What if my first try is a jackpot?”

Honey, bless your gullible heart.

So as I reach the end of this amusing notebook; as I have 5 more pages left, I’m defeated.

How do I conclude this book when I don’t like the ending I’m presented with?

Do I leave a blank page, waiting for that person to catch up with my count of 4 temporaries already encountered? Or do I keep that book incomplete till I get my preferred ending?

Well, if only there was a rule to reason yourself better with every failed relationship. Maybe you would get a clearer picture of what you actually deserve.




If I write about creepy, old, wrinkled up, crooked nosed women who surface at the witching hour to collect the glassiest eyeballs for their collection, would it be relatable?

What if I told you that these crones couldn’t sleep at night because of the constant animosity that came their way uninvited.

She isn’t a conventional beauty. She doesn’t have the knowledge of what it is like to see through eyes and find acceptance and praise.

What if she believes every other eyeball has that luxury. It’s special, everybody, barring her is special. And for once, she wants to see through eyes that show her kindness and love and humanity if nothing else.

What if this hag has her collection of amber, blue, brown, grey, green, hazel and black irises; and she picks out one pair at the end of the day, to just cherish the moments which she would otherwise not know of?

How wrong is it that because of our small mindedness, our perception of beauty, our choice of pretty over personality; has driven these women to claw out the eyes of some innocent, who, even by a shade is considered acceptable?

Do I have a moral? Ask yourself.

Am I suggesting that the birth of a new serial eye-scooper is imaginable, I hope not.

Am I hoping that there are people who see beyond what their eyes show them? Yes.

Freedom vs. Fear

There’s a very thin line between freedom and fear, I feel. In less than a month I won’t have an excuse to be a child. No grades, attendance percentage, no redos. The freedom that I yearned for over five years is not even thirty days away.
A friend stated, “freedom” regarding the fact that college is almost over. And automatically my reply to him was, “fear”.
You will always have something that scares you. All these years it was the things that I will never have to face in a month. But now, the fear of actually living by your rules, your outlines, whether I want it black and white or blue and orange; I don’t have the slightest clue.
If I for a second believe that right after graduation I will follow my dream. Then let me tell you, I won’t. I can’t. Those of you who have ever had a conversation with me know that the end goal is to be the author of a best seller. I have sat at coffee shops, waited on sunsets, I have stared out the window sitting snug with a stray near my foot in Almora. I’ve been to every stereotype place where epiphanies are known to strike. Still, nothing.
Of course I’m scared. Terrified of tomorrow.
There’s another side to me that breathes in relief. At least now, I will be able to use the tool of my choice. I will be able to decide the medium of colours I wish to use. And speaking of epiphanies, here’s hoping she finds me soon.

A recovering hypocrite

I’m a recovering hypocrite.
My talent? I give ridiculously good advice on becoming who you are and not being defined by the presence or absense of people, places or things in your life.
My flaw? I rarely follow through.
But here’s the thing, I try. Each time, harder than the last. I try to guard my feelings with Hulk like protection *imagine little Avengers fighting to maintain the good thoughts* I try to listen to what each half of my body says. When the hands don’t want to reply, I don’t. When the feet want to up and leave a situation, I do. When the head wants you to bow out and leave without a scratch but the ego wants to take the first punch, that is where I lose most of the time. Correction, that is where I lose every time. Now the heart, that instant pounding that begins when a number flashes on the screen, that there, is where you decide how the rest of your next 2 hours will go.
I advised my closest of friends, I threatened them over my friendship that they won’t let anybody belittle them ever again. I’m very proud to say that I’m surrounded by extremely strong people.
As a recovering hypocrite, my two hours that follow are either invested in a romcom (on the days I win); or I’m left streaming nonsense reality shows through the night, just so nothing triggers another bout of self loathing.
If there’s a hypocrites anonymous, I would love to join them. But at least I’m a good friend who helps those with a stronger will than mine to spend their two hours being proud of themselves.


People don’t change. They go on probation. Sometimes they surprise themselves. But shortly after, you’ll get that familiar taste of toxic that is their presence in your life.
Why let them in? Why try to take the higher road and give endless chances? Why go against your pleading intuition and answer, “hey.” It has to and will end with you feeling nothing short of an idiot who took a growing plant and stubbed a dozen lit cigarettes in it.
Choose yourself for once. Give yourself the chance to be selfish if necessary. Why should you hear the other’s rehearsed excuses whereas you don’t get to express yourself?
What do they have over you? What’s so great about them that you start second guessing yourself? Tell me, how far in, have you gone that the only comfort you find is surrounded by accusations, fights and emotional outbreaks?
Why not enjoy the possibility of shedding that toxic weight from your mind and peacefully grow as you want to.
Keep the one who will exploit your kindness out, especially when you know that all you did was try to be a friend.
Sometimes a full stop indicates the end. Just that. Sometimes no other begining is needed to follow.

Never Stops

Bullying never stops does it?
Hypocrisy is the most sought after mask behind which people would hide and attack others. What’s the joy you ask? Probably a sense of achievement. Even when there’s no provocation from the attacked party, bullying just becomes a game.
When I was younger, I saw the heavier girl in class get bullied by two seniors. She was just sitting there. Minding her own business. They made an announcement about something to do with Marvel vs DC; which was wrong so the girl decided to correct them. What a huge mistake. The next move, constantly calling her names and passing judgement without even actually knowing her.
Imagine you’re just casually scrolling down your feed and your favourite comic strip has an error. Since you have the disease of not being able to cope with spelling mistakes and written errors stick out like a thumb; that one mistake did disappoint you a bit; but in today’s day; if you speak up about anything, those mightier than you will ridicule you. Because bullying never stops. People don’t know what the high road is. And I guess having an opinion, if not the same as everyone’s, is wrong and an excuse for bullying.
At this point, being grammatically correct can be cause for target.

Guess growing up isn’t all that different.

Love love love

How many of us
truly love 
How many of us
know the
The ones for the
books, the ones
for the screen,
the ones for the
playlist, the
ones for the 
minds, some for
the hearts, and
a few for the 

When you know
which love is
the love you
need, you’re 

Because by then
there’d be
another type!