Pens and Pages

" The only thing more unthinkable than leaving was staying; the only thing more impossible than staying was leaving." - Elizabeth Gilbert (Liz) I always have a tough time letting go. It's either that or just this that I see things differently. I don't let go of things because I often look inward and wonder if I can change something in me to make things "okay". Everybody else seems to be pretty fine with how things are. How could I be a special case to ask for something different, something beautiful?  You see, I would rather blame myself and change myself than to simply state that I deserve something better. When Liz wrote this quote in the Eat, Pray, Love she wrote it for a marriage that was difficult to stay in and so much harder to let go of. It's always tough to let people go, especially people who care for you yet in their own ways which are more harmful than beneficial. I have had my share of toxic relationships like this when I would recall this q...

“I am so unambitious,” my senior from MDI Gurgaon, whom I have known from the past 5 years said this to me last night over a phone-call. She is one of the smartest women I know, someone who has navigated through multiple job roles to land a senior brand manager role- something she really enjoyed doing. In short, I know people from the same college who would kill to take a role like that. But she is not happy doing what she is doing, and I understand the same being the reason behind her usage of the word unambitious for herself. This is not the first time I have heard women use this word. My senior colleague at the workplace would often say the same thing for her. And then the same words did come from another senior I know, and then from a friend, and finally from my own mouth. These are women from colleges like IMT Ghaziabad, IIM B, IIM C. The names of the colleges are important because it is no mean feat to traverse the journey to reach such colleges – study for CAT, appear for CA...

A ll these quotes are from the book Illusions : Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah by Richard Bach. They all speak about changing your mindset, your perception and hence, your reality and life. The truth is that we can choose to suffer or to thrive. Like they say, pain is inevitable but suffering is optional. What would you choose? 1. If your happiness depends on what somebody else does, I guess you do have a problem. 2. Argue for your limitations, and sure enough, they're yours. 3. You will wonder why some people are unhappy. They are unhappy because they have chosen to be unhappy, and, Richard, that is all right! 4. We cannot die, we cannot hurt ourselves any more than illusions on the screen can be hurt. But we can believe we're hurt, in whatever agonizing detail we want. We can believe we're victims, killed and killing, shuddered around by good luck and bad luck. 5. If you really want to remove a cloud from your life, you do not make a big production out of it, you just ...

I cannot stress on the fact enough that life has changed after working. Well, it should because what good is stagnancy anyway. After a year of working, I find myself tired by the second half of the day. No wonder, every time I take a flight I doze off even before the flight takes off. I remember, I was traveling on New Year ’s Day and the flight was delayed by multiple hours. That was the first time when I woke up from a nap on a flight and didn’t find myself on air or on a different city. I woke up and we were still at the take-off area. But I had a good nap anyway. It was last week when I took an afternoon flight but couldn’t fall asleep for some reason. Like most journeys I was seated near the window, but unlike my previous journeys, this time I looked out of the window. We were just a couple of metres above of the clouds but the view was great. A blue horizon on a sea of clouds. I was lucky enough to spot a rainbow amidst the cirrus; the hues getting clearer with ...

I can tell the time of the day just by looking at your face- a glow of hope when it's five you rejoice the new day, tired eyes by it's nine- same old story, same old game, at four you need your coffee during the office cigarette-break, at ten you look so exhausted as another day comes to an end, you'd draw the curtains at midnight- another day closer to death.

People I usually meet in person first, often come back to me with this statement later – Oh, I didn’t know you write. Some acquaintances have often declared that I don’t look like someone who would write. I don’t ponder upon such words much but I am slightly bothered by the one I heard last week – “Why did you stop writing?” I was taken aback. I never stopped writing. Who said I had? So I went back and looked at the source she was referring to- My blog. The last date said October 2017. It’s indeed been 5 months; maybe I did stop writing after all. The last time I wrote something I was in Rourkela, a peaceful city in Western Odisha where life was as slow as it could get. I moved to the capital, Bhubaneswar in late November where every morning I would wake up late but still manage to write a short poem while rushing on my way to work. Within two months I found myself loaded with responsibilities that made my shoulders bend. I would wake up as early as 6 in the morning, I would...

He slicks his dark black hair back with his fingers. Outside, it was broad daylight, offering his dark brown eyes a view of the western part of the city. The neighboring tall buildings remind him he is on the 22 nd floor of his workplace. He finishes off the remnants of his black coffee, already cold by now. The half-smoked cigarette burns out on the ashtray. He pulls the ropes of his French window and his cabin is no longer reminded of the world outside.  He turns his swivel chair with the support of his desk to face a laptop in front of him that wastes no time in taking him to another world altogether. The white striped shirt he is wearing with his dark grey tie match the colors on the back of his laptop that flaunt the initials “S. R.”. * An unexpected knock on her door wakes Sheena up from her siesta. She reaches for the yellow dupatta lying carelessly on the other side of the bed, as if it was equally tired from the previous day’s work. She wears the dupatta aro...

A world full of "certainties" All the plans, all the vanities. Where black covers the white Suited in "confidence"- the constant fight. A million roads I dream to take One destination, knowing not I turn where. A green veil covers for two years, some two decades. But the "plan" awaits, new roads to make. I pant, I struggle, I do my best While they say, "You are, dear, but so inadequate".