Wednesday, 19 July 2017

There are
letters,
words,
phrases,
paragraphs,
essays,
articles,
short stories,
long stories,
novels,
epics,
there are
commas,
brackets,
full stops.
And in between
there is,
what we call,
Life

Friday, 17 March 2017

Dear Husband

We got married. Because our stars favored us. And they favored us too, about whom, we don’t talk anymore. The characters in our story that meant so much back then; we don’t hear of them now
They exist still. They enter only when they’re not needed. You know what I mean, right?

We got married. And it was all that was expected of us. A grand wedding. We spent so much. And we enjoyed so much. Oh so many pictures of us smiling and posing. So many people wanting to capture us and save us soigneusly into their smartphone galleries. We made way to some home screen wallpapers too. Little achievements, you know. The prince and the princess of the night, we knew nothing. Just that we were getting married. And that it was something sacred everyone goes through. Sometimes to attest their love or to attest their identities in a society that recognizes husbands and wives and doesn’t understand other relationships. You were a man of fortune. I, a girl of beauty we got married and life began.

We got married, but honestly, we didn’t have. No, it’s not your fault. But it’s just the education you received. And the education I received. You saw your mother folding your fathers’ clothes, cooking all day long in the kitchen, taking afternoon naps, arranging stuff and doing the same old stuff all-round the year you in the meanwhile, received a doctor’s degree and made your parents proud but the things that you learnt back then could not be overwritten or erased by any degree of intellectual stimulation. You had a wife now, as if, it was natural to have one around and not care about what she does, why she does. You didn’t know what to do with her. I had a husband, and I didn’t know what to do with him either except for the stuff that is necessary to have babies; you know.

I’d browse the nights off on social networks and you, on your laptop watching your favorite series. For us, it was never a collective social network or a collective TV series. Have you ever heard of a play within a play? Our lives were exactly like that. We had a larger story in which we were a couple and we were linked to common people, and there was another story within this story which was our individual night-time story where we were two individuals living two separate lives inside the four walls of our bedroom.


Do you know that rain makes me want to go to and have an ice cream?
Do you know that I want people to gift me a lot of books on my birthday?
Do you know that I use the word ‘ouch’ way too often?
Do you know that I use a raspberry flavored hand cream?
Do you know about a dream I often see?
Do you my last nightmare?
Do you know, given a chance, I would like to pick up a dance?
Do you know how I smell like when I wake up in the morning?
Do you know I sometimes shake a clutch the pillow tight at night?

No, you don’t. I don’t know these details about you either. But details are important you know?
Details when stitched together form a bigger picture. We don’t have those bigger pictures.

Now when everyone is putting pressure on us about having a kid, it’s time that I tell you something. I want my baby to look at her parents and see how much they love. I want her to learn all good things about love and sharing. I want her to grow up thinking that fairy tales and magical love exists. I want her to be simply loved by two people madly in love.

The decision is your’s and mine – either we start afresh or we start afresh, you know what I mean, right?





Monday, 16 January 2017

The Perfect Love

Gaganpreet Singh Photography



I changed. 
I changed not just because I love you.
But also because I wanted you to love me.
And I changed.

I changed the way I slept like a free bird
with my arms spread on both sides like wings
as if I was going to take a flight in my dreams, 
and now I sleep all lady-like with my arms sometimes around you,
or around my own body for the fear of being judged 
for being too confident to be loved.
You wanted to pamper the vulnerable me, 
I became one for I wanted to be loved.
And I changed. 

I changed the way my hair would always be a messy bun, 
Now I arrange my tresses every time I step out to see you
for you wouldn't want to be around the mess that I was.
I make sure the bun was perfect and that I wouldn’t look like I
a teen that just got out of the bed
you wanted me to be a lady, and I became one.   
I changed. 

I changed the way I'd spend lazy weekends on my bed
emptying tea mugs, reading books, and scribbling my heart out on papers
and occasionally on walls or canvases.
I now have a razor in my hand and an epilator in the other
because last time you touched me,
and murmured into my ears that my arm feels like that of a man's arm. I
dug my head into the pillow and sobbed but
then I thought it was normal of you to be asking for a chiseled skin,
the way I ask for a little stubble on your face, sometimes, may be? or may be not.
I changed.

I changed the way I’d talk in public.
My voice became softer and I almost stopped
laughing my heart out because that’s what teens do,
I was becoming a woman and women behave well in public,
they look interested even if they aren't, and 
they indulge in meaningful conversations, 

I changed a bit every day,
the voice, the hair, the sleep, my friends,
the songs I heard, the films I watched 
and all my pass-times,
I altered them.
I changed to fit into your image of perfect love

I’ve become someone I’d never known before.

am I, now, your perfect love?






Thursday, 5 January 2017

इंतज़ार

Photo by Gaganpreet Singh © 

















उस सहर से इस सहर तक
कुछ बदला ही नहीं,

फ़ोन की बीप अब भी किसी एक मैसेज की उम्मीद जगा देती है,
दरवाज़े पे कोई आहट, चाय की केतली गैस पर रखवा देती है,
क्योंकि ठंडी चाय तो तुम्हें भाती ही नहीं
तुम्हारे लौटने की उम्मीद कम है, कहते हैं वो...
पर इंतज़ार की आदत भी तो तुमने ही डाली थी,

सोचती हूँ,
किसी दिन,
बस यूँही
हमेशा की तरह,
मेरे भीगे बालों पर अपनी उंगलियां फिराने चले आओगे,
अपनी डायरी में सोई शायरी को मुझसे फिर से मिलवाने चले आओगे,
सोचती हूँ,
कोई तो गिला ज़रूर होगा,
के अब तक मुह फुलाए बैठे हो,
शायद बस उसे ही जताने चले आओगे,
फ्रांस और भारत इतनी दूर भी नही.
सोचती हूँ.
अब भी सोचती हूँ


उस शहर से इस शहर तक,
कुछ बदला ही नहीं 

Sunday, 1 January 2017

The fire in her

Photo by Gaganpreet Singh ©

It can burn and can bring solace to the frosty and isolated souls.
It repairs the fissures,makes, breaks, destroys, creates.The gloomy corners,it illuminates.


The fire in her