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So I haven't blogged in a long, long time but my self-enforced expedition on myself made sure I write this travelogue. Let me tell you how I landed up where I am currently writing this- an empty bus I am seated on from the past one hour. It was a long weekend and I was tired of the  idea of visiting beaches or metros on unplanned weekends. So a week back, I decided to visit this place called Pyramid Valley which I found on a listicle suggesting weekend getaways from Bangalore. The twist in my plan was that I will land up there by taking public transport and figuring out my way as I go. I was eager to breathe in the dust-filled air while traveling on a public transport without worrying much about the time taken while traveling. Me to myself: I was supposed to start early in the morning because of the timings at Pyramid Valley (9am to 6pm). But I woke up at 9.30am and left my house only at about noon. So I packed clothes for a one-night stay at the place. Leaving fro...

How nonchalantly we made promises of a love eternal And in the quest for eternity We forgot how to not forget each other, I had forgotten how it felt like To be in his presence, How he would talk of the faraway stars As we sit under the moonlit sky... I had forgotten his perfume And he had forgotten How my cheeks turn red Every time I caught a glance of him. In the quest for eternity I wrote a million poems, Letters I would not share... We had forgotten how it felt like To live in the "reality" people created. We left things unsaid Like we see in the movies written on ideas created by Shakespeare... I would cut my wrists, Drink wine to remember And recite Bukowski and Plath In the quest for the eternity they derived... But most of the pages life did unfold, Were nothing like the books he read, Or the poems I wrote... Life moved on, One memory after another... We kept forgetting Each moment we thought we'd cherish. Yesterday, I saw him again His picture on my ...

Who is she, That ugly old woman? She says she grew up Facing the vagaries of life. Oh, didn't I do the same? I would tell her Had she not been so vain. I looked at her eyes, Puffed up as if she just cried. I've spent sleepless nights crying, I could tell her, Had she been my friend. Who is she, That woman who looks nothing like me? She is dressed up in black, Mourning the death of someone akin. Haven't I mourned deaths? I have mourned them Till there were no tears left. I would let her know But she seemed tearless herself. Who is she, The lady I couldn't like? She runs her fingers Through her long grey hair And sings songs of despair. 'Who are you?' I asked her, at last. The answer I couldn't bear As I kept looking At the image in the mirror.

I am often surprised, if not dismayed, when I read those angry articles on women, and especially when it’s penned down by a woman. A few days back I read a piece of article written by a renowned author quoting that the modern woman instead of seeking to be a man should regain her femininity. Whenever it’s mentioned what a man or woman “should” do or be like, it disappoints me. Who decides who should behave like whom? Are these the rules written in ancient scriptures, which were written by no one else but men or women like us who happened to belong to a different era? Are these the rules mentioned by kings and queens who no longer reign? Or are these rules conveyed by the Almighty himself/herself whose existence is somehow dubious for some, if not all, of the people? It must be amusing to look at the world through the tinted glasses one wears; and then whenever a color seems too bright or too pale, to quote it as a misfit. Where lays the liberty of just being human? Is i...