Pens and Pages

I found it strange how men swam in the pool without seeming to feel even a tad bit uneasy about their less than perfect bodies, hairy, dark, with proud paunches wearing a swimsuit that was nothing more than a boxer While I, Another Imperfect Woman, Shivered in my suit, Wondering if more than my contours were visible, Even though it was dark, Even though the swimsuit covered what's "necessary to cover". My first swimming lesson And instead of feeling proud for having dared, for having tried, A Million Thoughts crossed my fearful mind. The fat belly. The fat arms. Hairy armpits. Sunburns. Chlorine. Shape. Shame. Thighs too flabby. Hips too large. Hold your breath. Keep your head down. Pull the suit's edges Let it cover some more skin. I need to wax. I need to look thin. My first swimming lesson And before feeling the fear of water I felt shame. And if perfection is the need only for women. Oh, I tell you, it's a...

( Because everyone around us pretends to be someone they are not and, maybe, so do we.  Maybe the person you truly are is only when you're all by yourself. ) I hope it's you The face you show me every morning, For I have torn masks before, I have detached pretty pink masks from dark red faces, I have burned those wooden masks so that they can Reflect the faces they hide. They don't. They veil a different anatomy altogether, A face that only a mother could truly love, A face that would push me to trauma for a few months, A face that brings along depression and loneliness. I have fancied those faces would one day turn white, Or a lighter shade of grey or blue. They don't. They bathe with blood every night I kiss them goodnight. They have bathed in the blood they stole from someone else alike. Every time I pull out such masks Stuck to their skin Knowing not the thin boundaries For they have, over the time, erased, ...

Jesse-James Black Photography Tears not wept out from a long, long time When days turn into meaningless nights. She shall smile some other day, Some other time. Each word she writes holds a story within- She shall make you read it some other day, Some other time. With a million stories so hard to tell, Poems so hard to narrate, She shall write it with each tear she drops, But another day, Another time. She picks up thorns The way you collect coins, Found on a happy day On an empty street. She has made her own museum now Of thorns that didn't pinch her skin, But yet made her bleed. Some day she shall spend those thorns, Like you'd spend yours On some crowded river-side On a weekend away from home. But she'd save those like you save your coins, To let them loose only when she'd weep for the first time, On some other day, Some other time....

Source: Levo.com I set them on fire, The pillars of withered leaves Like promises long broken. The bridge collapses On a sea of grief. I set them on fire Like there was no yesterday Looking at this morning With remorse and a hidden pain. Ages have elapsed Like a strand of hair That loses its identity over time, Turning pallid painlessly. I set them on fire- The long tresses you so loved once, Touching my neck, And down my spine, Once or twice, a gentle peck. I have burnt bridges, More times than I have lit a cigar Or held you in my arms. Today I pin them down, I collect the ashes- Another bridge to build With grey pillars of Infidelity and torture. Love, they call it While I prepare for it to kindle.

The thing about promises is that they can be broken. I was almost on the verge of breaking a promise before I sat to write this saviour blog-post of mine. Courtesy: LinkedIn The promise or the goal was that I’d ignore the negativity around me and write about the positive things, the little acts of kindness, love and hope on my blog this year. Two and a half months have elapsed and I haven’t written a word. In my defense, I was busy writing hatke marketing-related articles for Marketing Buzzar (You can find them here ). So like I promised in the month of January that I will write about people who help me restore my faith on humanity in this world of today, the person I pick today to write about is Suruchi Gupta, a fellow student at MDI, and her “The Umbrella” incident. It so happened that we, the members of the Counseling Cell of MDI Gurgaon, were at a meeting discussing future plans for the college and also, our individual career paths when one of our seniors ment...

It's been thirteen long days since I wished my family a happy new year while forgetting to wish my blog the same. Nor did I celebrate its fourth birthday on 26th December 2015. Often a times, I feel like one of those ruthless mothers who do not know how to take care of one's child or those fair weather friends who refuse to acknowledge their friends in need. So when I am all busy and preoccupied, my poor blog is out of my mind. The reason might not entirely be the way I presented it to be for I did wait for something great to happen so that I could feel the pages of my dear blog with some food for thought. But sometimes great things happen every day or they do not at all, so that you do not get a chance to fathom it.  Studying in a B school implies very less time for old friends and old habits. Blogging does take a back seat. But when every term I get to read so much about human behaviour, blogging seldom leaves my mind. I come across so many people every day ...

A tribute to the Nirbhayas of this world, to those who did not get justice, to Jyoti #IndiaFailsNirbhaya They were my sisters- Those two poor daughters of an Indian village, Clad in what they call decent clothing for women, Found one morbid morning, Dead and hanging from the branches of the tree, The same tree around which you and I had played once. Yesterday I saw my mother, with tears in her eyes, When she said she saw no hope Of justice in this nation where once I lived. “Avenge my death,” I had once said to my friends, To the people who once loved me; Maybe they still do And fate must have silenced them. Maybe the sticks they were beaten with While protesting against what was wrong, Have put lashes on their hearts, and locks on their mouths. The same juvenile lad who had once Watched me writhing in pain, Probably, with a smile on his face, as I moaned, I heard he is now going to start working soon. And have a “career”, I heard t...