Friday, 21 June 2013



Like blood, it breathes in my skin, it rushes- coursing through my veins, snaking its way around until it claws its way inside, plunging into the very depths, and throbbing with every beat of my heart; and now I am a living, breathing, pulsating life form that reeks of a closed shell with all outlets and channels to open space blocked. All vents locked.

It is cruel at best.


It sings. And then it doesn't really matter whether you want to hear it or not. Eventually you will succumb to its sword. Didn't I tell you Loneliness carries a sword with itself? Yes, it's a sword and a sharp one too at that. That cold blade - it cuts you. And when it has finished piercing your skin you hear your blood sing the same tune, and the blood in your mouth tastes metallic. And that's when you know that Loneliness is inside you- a part of you, and slowly it shall become  'You’.

Loneliness, no point in staying far away from it. Calling it 'it' will only bring me more pain now that it is a part of me. I will tell you how 'It' became 'Me’.

But before that, let's call it Nestle shall we?

I remember the day I met her.

It was the day my heart broke. How it broke is not important, I mean it is, but that's a story for another day, perhaps another times...

I remember the day when I first became acquainted with her.

Courtesy: Stefan Klop/Creative Commons/Flickr

I was sitting on a park bench, figuring out ways to collect the broken remnants of what was left of my heart. Sitting there alone with an umbrella by my side and raindrops in my eyes, I failed to notice her frail presence. Only the words "Every Loneliness is a pinnacle" raised their head in some distant part of my subconscious. I remembered having read them somewhere before. It became difficult to place them, not that I really cared about placing them in the first place. These words were supposed to sooth me, like panacea. Instead, like placebo they proved to be hollow. They failed. Their very presence belied the function of their existence. These words, they failed to give me wings; the wings would have helped me soar out of solitude's mire and fly to freedom, towards a different hued sky where loneliness had not yet painted her signature black.

Pointless- It seemed was the colour of the day.

But then I guess after a certain point all things lose meaning. You know that's how I think. This is just how my mind works. Even writing right now seems pointless. Come to think of it, I haven't really been telling you anything new. You know it already. But then, what's started has to be finished, right? So I will complete this too.


Continuing my story, she sat beside me and said nothing at all. It wasn't until a big raindrop fell on my slippered feet that I noticed the presence of another pair of pale fragile feet with baby pink toe nails. I looked up and found her sitting beside me. She held my hand and looked deep into my eyes. I knew in that moment that she saw through me. That whoever she was, she was not a stranger but was a witness to my life.  

My lips quivered and more raindrops fell. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to say something. I always have something to say. It's like a nasty habit. And I just wanted to say something to her. It's just that the words didn't form. Only my lips gave way to some speechless sound.

It always happens when I think too much or nothing at all. I become a mass of jumbled thoughts and all semblance of logic and rationality eludes me. I think when I am lonely and I observe when I am lonely which is practically most of the time.

I wonder how she knew what I wanted to say but she kissed me then and her taste will always be with me.

Courtesy: Lisa Widerbergs/Creative Commons/Flickr

Let me tell you something about her- Loneliness, she's a feeling who just sits with you like a new-found companion. She talks to you and kisses your lips and when you taste her she melts in your blood and flows into you. There's this ironical thing about loneliness. Even she doesn't like to be lonely. No matter how less a time you give to her, she tries to make a bond with you. In that very short or long span of time she settles comfortably. Nesting. Nestling.

That's why she is 'Nestle'.

Appreciate her.

Tell her that now that you have her, you will never let her go.

That no matter who comes in or goes away from your life, your bond with her will be forever.

Tell her that she need not be lonely anymore, because you've found her.

Just like I did, the day my heart broke.

Friday, 7 June 2013


Girl with rain, thunder and lightning in her hand
Courtesy: Kathryn/Creative Commons/Flickr

It rained yesterday.
I couldn’t help but fall in love again.
I mean how can one just remain cooped inside and not go out when the sky has turned Grey?
I did just that. I went out and I stood outside in the balcony and I watched my God paint the sky Grey.
There is something so deeply liberating about a grey sky. The moment it turns grey, it gives me Hope that it will rain, it fills me with the assurance that the winds will mayhap blow and move between the Heavens and Earth, it instills a presage that maybe the sun won’t shine too hot in my eyes and that my scorched skin will be embalmed in Grey’s comforting veil.

mist covered window with grey written

I like GREY very much
It makes me think of the sky
Sky up in the Skies above so high!
Stop! That’s the same thing.

I like Grey
I like Grey very much
It’s a nice colour, a healing hue-
“Healing Hue” Now that has a nice ring to it!
I like the soothing way it gently slides into my eyes,
And then goes up and slides again mantle like upon my eyelids and closes them and encloses them
And then flows, caressing my cheeks
And then I taste it and it tastes refreshing, don’t you think?
I wonder why people link it up with gloom or doom or somebody marooned,

To me, Grey is a happy colour,
It brings rains after all, and
It purges the soul and cleans the air
How can it not be a symbol of the blithe, of the living and the alive?

I like it
I like it very much
It reminds me of winters and monsoons
Of their warmth and cool
Of a frozen sunrise and hot tea
Of a wet sunset and dry bed

Sometimes, my world also becomes Grey
Blacks and whites are hard to find
We can’t live an absolute life, can we?
Our life is Grey after all,
Is Grey dirty?
Does it need to be washed and dried and spread in the sky to soak up the sun?
I reflect
I ponder
And I wonder if a time will come when we shall transcend this grey
And be all white,
And then perchance everything will be alright?