The beauty of opposites…

He dreamt of beaches grainy and azure

She of forests enchanting and glittering

The sun reflected in his iris bright

The moon glow on her stark white flitting 

His wishes were chestnut horses

Her treasures silvery unicorn hair

He drew forms bold and real

She painted mysterious and fair

Yet together entwined 

Gold and silver threads divine

Enhance the exquisite contrast

A passionate bond weaved to forever last…



Time to make it the forbidden word…

Oh yes, I wish to write about it too. And its not about salman khan. All he did was highlight the casual usage of the word “rape”. Like a zillion others do everyday. Like its a piece of paper allowed to fall to the ground without any thought. Any thought as to where it will land, on whom, whether it will dirty a clean place or add to the already existing muck. Whether it should have been cast in the wind in the first place.

There are some words, which do not just signify the act. They carry the burden of the doer, the act and the victim. They encompass the gamut of emotions attached. “Rape” is one such word. 

I belive, if everytime, we feel an urge to use this word, if we could in that one second, imagine the very horror associated with it, we would not have the guts to use it. 

Every single day, in public places, we are being touched inappropriately by sadistic hands. That one single act of violation leaves us with a feeling so sick in the very pit of our stomach. I have burst out into tears of murderous rage on numerous occasions, just because a stranger with a sick mind touched me while passing me by. 

Imagine then, the very act of being sexually forced upon, while every inch of you screams out in crazed protest. The feeling of violation, humiliation, mind numbing pain, blind rage that a person has to live and relive in real and his/her head for the rest of their lives. The horrific trauma which suspends the very thought process, which claws out the soul. 

Oh if only the word “rape” could be forbidden. Forbidden to use casually, as a part of a conversation, or as a figure of speech, or likened or compared to. If one’s tongue got frozen to the roof of the mouth everytime we dare enounce it. Learning a lesson hopefully after a couple of frozen moments. The very terror linked should constrict the heart. Where bringing the word to the lips be an excrutiatingly painful process. An echo of the actual. 

How arrogantly we use words. As if we own them. As if we could change their core by our tone. As if we could play around with them like a piece of wet wood. And this then seeps into our thought process. Or is it the other way around. Does the casual usage make the very act less intense or is it pure insensitivity that allows us to flutter the word around. 

Its time we proved ourselves human. Its time we become conscious of words as the most influential and impactful form of communication. Its time we accorded them the reverence they deserve. Its time we forbid “rape” even in verbal form. 

Let not our words be unthinking

Let us feel the very essence in a blinking 

Once they have floated off into the air

Cast away without a care

On a soul they may land

Whose world might come crashing down to become one with the sand


The (healing) Leap

There are instances and episodes, of people who have hurt us to the very core. Which have shaken our very beliefs, questioned our faith.

They all say forgiveness will heal.

Time has taught me (besides a million other things), its always the actions of the people we truly love, adore and respect that hurts to the very core. Offenses by any other are of little consequence, unless one is particularly good at holding grudges.

How easy is it to forgive and forget a hurtful action by a loved one? Terribly difficult I would say from sheer experience. Since the very act of forgiveness is voluntary, it makes it a Herculean task. It is easier to continue to wish the person well. But to undergo changes in hurtful feelings, well that is a different ball game altogether.

So what does one do? One doesn’t want to go through life with a stone in the pit of their stomach. A stone which gorges itself painfully deeper and deeper till it becomes part of ones very existence. Oh definitely not. All of us secretly want to heal, to be washed afresh with the clear blissful spring of love and happiness. Towards oneself and the ones we love.

Distraction, ignoring or pushing the feeling down only results in an upheaval of twice the ferocity. Let it not be pushed against the wall, where it will fester from within and deteriorate our vitals.

Healing begins with first completely feeling the distress, letting it overwhelm, flood the senses, allowing the self to wallow in pain, misery till every other thought process is blocked. Let it burst like a volcano through tears, cries of rage till one is spent, exhausted and numb. It might go on for an hour, day week, month. But it will eventually subside, recede, no longer centre stage. 

Once the numbness takes over, starts the blank stage. Everything works on autopilot. And there are flares, where the memory is relived and anguish takes over. Its comes in spurts, bearable and unbearable. One regains normalcy only to go through periods of sullen silence. Healing has begun.

The actual healing is what I call “The Leap”. A feeling which when encountered, confirms recovery. It’s the leap of the heart over the memory of angst. Like a little lamb, the heart leaps over the echo of grief untouched, unscathed.

It’s like the story of the three billy goats gruff. Once they have firmly dealt with the ogre under the bridge, he never troubles them again, allowing them to leap over his bridge to graze on greener pastures.

That’s when you know you have completely moved on, to fairer lands, when while leaping over the bridge, one can look at the ogre with indifference, unafraid as if it were someone else’s demon.

And to reach this very stage, one needs to deal with the ogre, till he is spent. All the while hopes and dreams of the green grass and rainbow lights on the other side in the head. And love. Let not the feeling of anger smote the feeling of love. Let not the singular dreadful memory wipe away the gorgeous ones. The ones created before the clouds enveloped, the ones which strung us on the same swinging wire. As without compassion the leap will be a distant dream. It’s a choice between perishing with the negative weight or rising with full force like a dolphin above the weighing water. Its this very choice which will bring The Leap within sight, attainable exuberant sight.


If the soul utters a cry of anguish

Caused by the one we love and cherish

Let despair overwhelm like a fog

Else every pore it shall block and clog

A lamb in the merry green field

From afar will peer at the foggy shield

And skip onto the next lush step

Light hearted with renewed love abreast….


Reliving with the rain 

I thought the rain was about romance, life, hope, new beginnings….and some more I realise….

It’s a regular day, wake up, slowly as the ginger tea awakens the senses, eyes running over black and white print, staying over some pieces longer.

I close my eyes. Suddenly I hear the sound of hooves, thundering by, on cobblestone paths. I open my eyes with a start. In the middle of a concrete jungle?

Curtains sway revealing glimpses of drops pelting hard with furrowed brows. Ah ! its going to be a rainy day. Do I smile? A huge sigh escapes my ginger flavoured lips.

The black and white print has fallen away as my hands sigh too. My eyes haze over. Slowly the rising mist forms features. They sharpen and colour, especially the eyes. As I stare into those bottomless pits, like hissing steam out come memories. Of a touch, a look shared, a crinkly smile, a fragrance, unsaid words, emotions etched on wrinkles and I fall headlong into this room of remembrances.

Always nostalgia, with a tinge of sadness of everything that was and might never be. Wistfulness steals over every cell of mine. Till I drown head deep in this pool removed from reality, from the present.

I have always wondered why. Is it scientific? Does some wire in my head get connected to something at the sight of rain? Or is it just me. Its this soul stirring song playing like a broken record in my head. Its not gloomy or desolate. The thunder, lightning and stormy clouds have no impact. Its just the grey I think and the clouds forcing the sun into hiding. The sun, which creates a new day, which signifies the present is locked away. Everything looks surreal behind that curtain of infinite droplets, behind that transparent yet chameleon veil. Like a film going back into grey-brown, everything takes on the look of memories, vague, hazy yet not muddled or indistinct.

I love it. I truly relish these moments. I find them infinitely enchanting, capable of captivating my very soul. It makes me want to burst into poetry, poignant and heart rendering. I wish I could inhabit a ballet dancer’s soul. Let graceful arms, slender neck and tippy toes paint my images, recollections in the air. Lifting me high, above the ground, encasing me in a bubble, where all time stops and only echoes are relived.

The beauty that I have experienced, lived, encountered. Events and people who have left a mark, some sooty, some pink, but a mark nevertheless. Which have ignited passions, feelings incredible which refuse to die. Which something as unconnected as the rain can manifest, in pastel form, like a Japanese drawing with strokes and shades.
Like rain, my reminiscences thunder and faint away

To be relived on another heaven opening to sprinkle water day

Where all the gloom and grey will stir the soul

Envelope me in whirls and curls of memories of old

I was born under a lucky star
In a life so short, to have experiences as rich as a Czar

Which will mix with the colours of my remaining existence

Like the rain, enrich all my future tenses….



Twinkle lights…why oh why…

This is the post excerpt.

Fairy lights on a tree glittering away

Massive ships alight far far away

A diamond sparkling in the orange glow

Galaxies in the midnight sky so show

Fluorescence in the deep violet sea

Merriment reflected in eyes full of glee

My thoughts twinkle like these bewitching lights

Emerging from my deep conscience thrusting sleep aside

Oh to capture them like fireflies in a jar

Else vanish they will, world loses a glowing star….

Write I must

So thoughts don’t gather dust

Or fade away

Instead metamorphose


Riveting words, that will ever sway