Tuesday, 30 September 2014


when we write.
how we write.
when we don't type but splash ink on surfaces. 
memories on slates of old solidified memories. 
out of duty or helplessness.
or out of a need to update ourselves.
when we actually write.

Monday, 22 September 2014

Words are not wind.

Im writing today because im hurt. Im writing because everyone else has their own shit to deal with. And im writing because it's the only thing which I can openly claim my love for. Without hiding it beneath dirty sheets on a rented bed of a dinghy room.
My ability to write as 'film maker' has been questioned by friends who are not even humans anymore. Who are just too hurt to empathize with the entire situation right now.
Writing is the only thing which reciprocates my love back after being finished.
That feeling when you miss on a hug not being reciprocated back right before you have to take a train to leave the city you love? That feeling when after making love to someone else, you yourselves are feeling unsatisfied and unloved and are just craving for a peck on the head?
Writing all this just needs to be written down. All it asks is to be written down. It does not ask you to wax or go down on it or ask you to keep your anger in control. It does not ask you or insults you for sharing it with others. Even when the intention was right and out of concern. Even when the intention was NOT A FUCKING A JOKE. Even when the intention was not a piece of fucking gossip.
It does not blame you for taking it to the hospital that day with you and later meeting with an accident all your life.
It does not paint you in a bad light.
It does not manipulate you.
Or asks you to fuck off. Or tells you that you had no right to this or that.
Words are not wind.
Don't give me that shit. Don't give me that shit when we were on top of that hill top and the view was worth all the pain we all went through in life.
Words are not wind. And if you think words are like wind, then you are highly mistaken in underestimating the Power of wind. The air the breeze the intensity it carries which is making you survive and making me survive. That's the power of words. It's oxygen.

I lost that day. I royally lost that day. My worst 24 hours of life. Where I fucked it all up. After fucking it all up even more. I could not make the only person understand me who could really understand me, Once.
I lost. And some losers won. I lost that day as I saw him hugging her and sleeping in the train. And I lost when the hug was not reciprocated back when I already gave myself to it. I lost when I was asked to leave. And I lost when I was fucked left right and center by her. By her words. By her lack of judgement. By her sense of vulnerability which I never took an advantage of.

I still respect the fact when she told me that the only person she could share her art and her personal self was only with me. I never told that to anyone. I never took that as a joke.

I only shared with what I went through. And what was told to me not by her, but by him.
What he told me and not her. And thats why the hug was never reciprocated. And thats why I was asked to work on myself as If you have to be a fucking PRODUCT in order to have some company and physical proximity with a person you like.
Yes I fucked it up. Yes I broke his trust. But I never lied. I hid things but I eventually confessed. Just like Her.
I became so attached with someone else's life that I thought It's mine. The ability to empathize is not always great. Especially when the other person can't. And yes I did a couple of unnecessary things too. I broke things so badly and thought I had the courage to mend them again. But I was not lucky. Like always, I lagged behind due to factors such as time space and distance.

And now you think I pretended to be a friend. You think Im giving you shit.
I know you regret even knowing me. And you have all the right to. As I said, you are too hurt to empathize with the whole situation. And no I did not brainwash anyone. I can't do that. If I could I would have not been in this situation in the first place.
Just because I fucked it up, it's not correct to call me a liar. I deserve your anger and tears and hatred and the desire to kill me for crimes I did not even commit. I deserve your "fuck you's" and "who the hell are you" but not the fact that Im a liar. And my reasons are not excuses. My reasons are my fucking reasons.

It's true. While talking we forget to quote many things and miss out on many things. I couldn't agree more with that.
But as I have always been able to zoom out of situations and look at them unlike many people, I can see myself winning. Maybe it's an illusion to live by. Maybe it's another random trip which the mind takes when it is under so much pressure and pain or maybe not. Cause I now usually vent my poison out where I only get love in return. But I can only see myself winning this. I was not doing any one a favor by talking to you. I owed you the right to be angry at me and yell at me. Something I was denied by your friends who now you love dearly. Im not even going there. I can't control anyone. But only I could take that. No one else. Not even you.

The only thing I could not stand was you attacking my ability to write.
Or anyone else for that matter.
True lovers are never ashamed of themselves. They are just naked because they have nothing to hide.
Now this is the last time Im really ranting about all this. There is a lot to do. There are other situations to come out of.

People have left and people will leave.
Words are wind and that is all ever going to stay.

And I thank Nitesh Mohanty for this beautiful fb post. It has brought me to be at peace with a lot of things including myself. 

Friday, 19 September 2014


I remember how Nikki had empowered me once while sitting outside SGS mall in order to believe that it's okay to use real names in my blog.
I have lost her and lost the courage to take the risk too again now.
That day she shared a lot with me. Since that day till today I haven't been promiscuous with her words and sold them off to someone else in the name of gossip.
I trash talk. But I never lie. I say things impulsively but I never gossip.
I share things about myself to others. Things which concern me. But maybe I forget that It involves the lives of other people too. And thus I decide not to share them anymore. Because I still love them.
It's so true how Rudy had once told me ( mind you, in front of a live camera) that speech was given to conceal thoughts. And It's true how every time I can't blame my existence in lonely loni regarding my need to share my life with my friends. I do so because they are my friends and they are harmless. They are not going to pick on each other.
It's the ambiguous that we always obsess over.

Thankfully all the moments shared with you were not ambiguous at all. It's just that in a way I have disappointed you. And I can't do much about gaining your trust back. I did things you asked me not to. And all I can do is figure out those wires within me which are causing such fluctuations.
It is always difficult to change the way you love someone. With every new person you have to adjust and adapt to them. It takes a lot of effort.
Maybe love isn't a pre-requisite. But it's lovely when it is.
I just din't know I could fall for someone who gets high on eating condensed milk sandwiches.
Again. I'm trying to keep myself away from all the obsessing. It's that feeling when you make soap bubbles float in the air and you are so happy that you end up bursting them all with so much ruthlessness. That one week I tried to do whatever I could. And became selfish. And all the things bad and all the things insecure.

I am not insecure anymore. Im just maintaining an honest relation with my blog without hurting people which I usually do in real life. And Im learning how to be responsible for myself. Seriously. I don't know how could i so easily afford to lose all those whom I loved so much once. And still do. It's just that I could not stand them being so much like an unresponsive wall to me.

Instead of taking two steps further I take ten giant leaps and ruin everything. And that's what I can't stop thinking about then. And then share MY mistakes with people like Rudy, who with all due respect make me realize what an asshole I behaved like and put me back into my right place from where I can start climbing again. It's like a mental trek happening all along.

Im the ant here.
The ant who wants to play djembe tomorrow. 

Monday, 15 September 2014

November 2013 Rants

feels like i have lost you. lost you along the coastal lines of the concrete suburban madness of this country. and i have been losing you everyday little by little.
Was it the distance of their feelings or the distance of the kilometers between them? Can a few hundred kilometers turn relations cold? Or is it just another hallucination she is facing because of her insecurities?
I do not know. This emptiness caused by your absence and bitter virtual presence continues to consume me exactly how i feel when im trapped inside a room full of smoke.
Why don't you make love to me with your words anymore? why every word is so bitter? was making love to me the end of it? was it even love?
She is scared to even ask this question.
What if he actually says yes? isn't dilemma really a bliss sometimes? just like ignorance they say?
I generally stay awake these nights. The 3:30 am train doesn't disturb me anymore. It greets me rather every night.
she thinks its like the train from Pakeezah. She thinks she is a bloody meena kumari. what a fool.
But these trains are nowhere related to you. You can't hear them anymore.
And the 5:25 train that we missed while it drizzled reminds me everyday that the night has come to an end. The 6 am birds chirp and tell me that it is finally time to fall asleep. There is a routine. But suitable to nobody. only to the dead.
I feel a lot of patience inside me and an endless wait too. More dreams are forming day after day. More late night till early morning chats with souls whom i thought to be soul-less.
Developments. Not changes.
There are restrictions. Time constraints. lack of speech. Still she manages to abuse. no intimacy. still she manages to form new temporary relations. no more back gate, crossing the dusty railway lines, no more chai with marathi songs on the radio. no more scope to build up nostalgia. everything has become so easy to get over now.
She is just tired of being heartbroken again and again.
Yet i feel so free and light.
Yesterday's rain was not romantic at all. The new yellow bulb was. The same which hides blemishes and what not. there was intimacy between her and nothingness. between her words and silence. The rain insects continue sticking to my laptop screen. Like a fool. Just like how i was in love.
I continue to lie on my bed. Stare at the ceiling. thoughts and gaze jumping into nothingness. Sometimes i aimlessly smile which fades into the same nothingness.
Something you did when you looked into my eyes and claimed that they were beautiful. Claimed that i was beautiful.
One should never make love to a feminist. She isn't one really. She is as weak and vulnerable as you.
everything else is a part of life.