So much of the war between ‘perfection’ and ‘goodness’ just essentially grounds from the need for small details – ‘analysis’, if I may, and the ‘big picture’.

When may I become so conscient, enough to realise which to choose among the two? Not unlike many other encounters, this resembles any shade but an absolute one. As of this second when I digitally ink this down on what seems to be an impeccable surface, I just happen to understand to not take either of the two till its extreme, that I lose sight of the other.

Attempting to break down something that is continent of one’s own intuition has its own charm, so does the exercise of assembling parts into a whole. One needn’t choose between the two, just switch when the stage demands so.

In all honesty, my reflections tell me I am biased towards the gestalt of things, perhaps because I find it demanding to look into the details? What then, explains my inherent craving for perfectionism in everything I commit myself to? Only further reflections will tell. Or not. Some questions are probably best if left in their Sisyphus state.


Hummings, rather eerie.
Gaze, perfectly steely.
Complaints, non-sensical.
Ambience, sombre yet comical.
Intentions unintended.
Happiness unsought for.
Unpoetic melodious poets.
Conclusion undecided.

Road: 5m; Path: 2cm

Attempt, diversify. Diversify attempts.

Yet, make it constricted.

Make efforts, widen horizons.

But give me that narrow answer I seek.

I shall grade you, mark you, rank you:

not on how much of the soul you’ve traded;

rather its alignment to the set schema.

For decades now.


I shall reinforce you

in every way I can.

So that that little pestering bug in you

loses its path;

and goes down the girth of hopeless recovery.

Still Dealing

Nearly after two epochs of having made an attempt to traverse through blocks (of nature other than those definable on physical terms), you still remain stranded. Stranded not on an island, rather a metropolis. The blocks in question, are rather awkward in their appearance. Those which resurface when you least want them to, hurdling your way forward. Your attempt at getting rid of them wasn’t half-hearted, and you know you could still find a better way, though you have failed terribly, everytime. The only resolution that seems to suffice actually proves you wrong, time and again.


When and why did we arrive to this point? Could this all be just a short phase or a dream from which I can get out of, later if not sooner? How have people learnt to even dwell in the midst of such intoxicated an environment, in turn, becoming toxic themselves?

Cat fights over things I consider bearing adjectives unfar from pettiness.

A second seems too long to wait for, before buds of treacherous emotions bloom into grotesque, poison-spitting flowers after she has left the table.

Assuming the vain pride at the rigidity with which we tend to follow that wretched fad which pleads to fade away and retire at the earliest.

The last time knowledge for curiosity’s sake was pursued, was when I breathed my last; and as humanly ashamed as I can be, I am still biologically alive.

CONSISTENCY, CLOSURE, CURIOSITY, FLEXIBILITY – what was the point I acquired their diction and they got subsumed in my vocabulary, but ‘Avera Kedavra-ed’ from my conscience?


Towards the end…

What does one define as the end? As Bo Jack characters have so thoughtfully put out, there’s always a day after the “happily ever after” day. 

Half asleep, and one doesn’t know what to engage one’s inactive soul into. Why would you come running for something, sacrificing your much-needed sleep? Does it give you the satisfaction of being productive? Are you though, really being active? Is all this a pretense? Maybe not. But who cares?

Why do you need someone to care for it to qualify as something worth caring?


Counting the notes,

I ascertain…

It’s rhythm coupled with

my inner sentiments;

that rages fire

within the entire system.


Evoking ecstasy –

Fluorescent shades.

Passing out,

Going faint.

My vigour fades

into a known oblivion.


There I see my life

passing beneath my eyes

Chetna – that fire rages again

and I pass out.

And this time,

the ashes aren’t grey…






Theme grotesque.

Dreams Picturesque.

Yet, I repeat it.

Being unable to conceal it.

And so I pour down

all voices trying to tear me down,

into this impeccable surface;

unlike the realities we often face.

True, he who has to go will go.

Easy to say, don’t miss them.

No, I’m not missing anyone.

But my mind digs and

brings back to me all interactions

we exchanged over conversations.

No tears falling down, I confess.

But beats are louder, breaths a mess.

Go say it’s just a phase; will pass.

Agreed. But neither can I ignore

the memory which is now a carcass.

No, I haven’t lost someone.

I have just stopped knowing someone

whom I never knew.

For the stench of that very carcass

entices scavengers:  resembling memories

to munch on its flesh.

Dear Black.

I understand we haven’t spent much time together and destiny took it upon its hands to not let us stay with each other. Destiny: in the disguise of an unknown devil who stole you from me.

I have never been a lover of folks around me who are at times(read “always”) too mawkish in expressing their love and then publicly crying over when their concept of what inseparable was, gets invalidated.

Regardless, I miss you. It was even before I met you that I was convinced I don’t need Pink anymore in my life. Although we spent a great deal together and I still would say she is my old love. Do I miss her? Probably not. Since our love tenure mutually came to an end. But you? I miss you because there was no mutual parting, no closure. You were snatched from me. I didn’t bid you adieu. I desperately tried to look for you in the entire travel compartment, hoping to just spot you, secretly wishing that you were just hiding from me and not stolen. But when did anyone give anyone a guarantee that all their wishes would come true?

I think of you every time I see someone else possessing what closely resembles you. I envy them. But I still know you were better than them. This incomplete partnership we shared is most likely the reason you will forever remain my favourite footwear. Who knows, maybe for the rest of my life?








A boatman travels;
A historian unravels.
One, through water;
The other, by resurfacing matter.
One is looking forward to destination;
The other traces footsteps of a nation.
Mystery lies nonetheless;
In this bout of guesses.
For one, about direction;