Pens and Pages

I let you go like some old habits of mine- Checking your Facebook profile every minute I touch my phone, Reading our old messages for signs that would tell you don't love me anymore, Putting a burning cigarette in my mouth every time I thought of you, Exhaling the smoke every time I realized you aren't with me. But such are the habits that do not die- You come back to me one more time, You collide with me on a busy street on some Saturday morning, looking at someone else's photos from that phone in your hand; I let you go like the wine of Venice I swear I would never drink again, I let you go like the promise of never writing a poem again Yet I hold a new bottle of wine dearly in Vienna, A few blank pages and a new pen sit by my side in the cold nights when I would sit in a train and try hard not to think of you. But such are the ways with thoughts- When I close the doors, they find a new window to come in, Rotten like the smell of the dried fish you used

I always thought it was to my disadvantage that I can never hold back my tears when I need to. I have cried in places I swear I wouldn’t. I am the person in a movie hall who cries whenever the protagonist is in a bad situation. I am the person who is going to cry when you tell her something bad about your own life. And if I don’t, in front of you, I am going to run to the washroom a little while later to let the tears flow, after patting my back for holding them for a while. Reminiscing the conversation and crying later just before sleeping is my thing to. I have lost the count of the times I have cried in the presence of someone I wouldn’t want to show my sensitive side to. But that’s me – 25 and still a crybaby in situations of frustration, anger and sadness, with no consideration to whoever is around me. I remember the time I cried in Venice in front of two guys I just met that day and two other guys I had known only from a couple of days. But that’s a story for another day;

Photo taken at Plitvice National Park, Croatia by Vibhor Dhote Oh! What are these days I have found myself in! The bagpacks I carry no longer feel that heavy; What have they lost if not for a few coins, a few notes, some letters written long ago, a few locks, a few clothes? Or is it the loss of some fears, some shackles, some thoughts tied to their waist belts several years ago? Where is the fatigue? Where are the tears that drenched my pillow? Where is the inability to wake up early in the morning and the incessant desire to sleep forever? Today, every time I close my eyes, I need to type, I need to write. Where is the indolence, the procrastination, the lack of, as I would say whenever they ask, the "limited time"? What is this insouciance called? Where have eloped the eternal need for love, money and the things I've already sold? Why Plath has shut her eyes today whom I so deeply adored? Bukowski's Bluebird is set free now while Sahir's pleas

I needed to write something, as I always do, and I believe the best way of writing is when you’re on a train. Right now I am enroute Krakow from Wroclaw, Poland and listening to the song Bulleya from Ae Dil Hai Mushkil, which reminded me to share what I felt after watching the movie. Official Poster Copyright to Publisher/Distributor/Graphic Artist of the movie I think the movie is dispensable, despite the entire buzz around it. Glimpse of The Breakup Song did develop an inclination to watch the movie for me, but when I listened to the entire song it was quite a disappointment, thanks to the awkward opening of the song and Badshaah’s rap the lyrics of which reminds one of nothing but the movie Jab We Met. What’s with “use phone mila aur gaali de, photo jala ke kar de raakh”? Couldn’t find new or better ways, eh? I do like the songs Channa Mereya and Bulleya though, thanks to the lyricist. Most of the songs I love are for the lyrics than the music but of course, without a so