Tag Archives: love

Damsel in distress

Serene environs.

Silence broken by the gushing water

falling down the rocks…

amidst green, secluded space,

stands the damsel in distress…

Unperturbed by the chaos in the vicinity,

un-amused by all the beauty at her doorsteps.

Fighting some futile tireless mind-battles,

over-stressed. Ungrateful.

Oblivious of all the gifts.


State of denial

Do you know what is worse than losing someone you love or excruciatingly more painful than living in piercing pain?

It’s the state of denial. It’s convincing yourself to shut up every time you feel like you must speak up. It’s the fear of losing a bigger war, losing something of someone that you already have in hand in pursuit of what you may never have, and trying is all but in vain.

It’s actually all that “may not/might not” which is for sure worse than anything else.

It takes months and years to try and create someone like you out of the words like dreams and desires and magic and prayers and lights and fire.

And it takes seconds to seeing it all soaring away disappearing into dust and vanishing like vapor and dispersing into mist.

You put me in some real fix. I want to secretly admire you staying like a distant dream from afar while simultaneously yelling every single thing I love about you right into your face.

I want to perch on your mind and flow in your veins running with your blood and web on your nerves leaving no space for anybody else and stay in your eyes for good but at the same time aspire and choose to be an insignificant bystander; one you may never know if ever existed at all. Fighting a battle of should or should not.

My condition is no different from the man who believes to have started world war four with his feet because they can’t take him to his loved one and because he already had the third with his head.

I am fighting many battles in my head already, and losing; from nobody but myself. And I don’t want to lose on a bigger front. Hence, choosing to shut up every time I feel like, I must speak up.


No I am not in love

No I am not in love with you. I don’t even know what it is to be in love. Because if ever I were, I would simply act normal, reach over to you, express it and that’s it. End of story, right?

No I don’t believe in “if you try to possess them, you lose them, like forever.” If ever, I were to fall in love with you, I would never lose my mind, for sure.

No I don’t think about you all day long. Even in the mornings when I wake up, you are not on my mind, like totally. When heading for work, all I think about on my way is absolutely not you. Entirely not.

Throughout the day even during any single assignment, I never even attempt making beautifully broken, unclear, blurred images of what you might be doing or thinking, and interestingly never even had a second thought about texting and asking the same for like million times a day. Not even once.

While having a cup of tea, I have never even had a single thought about calling you over for the company. During lunch I am preoccupied in food, why should I even let my mind wander around hallucinating and sharing my meal with you? I definitely don’t.

I don’t think about you for real, even for a single second, not even for mere mili-micro-nano-picoseconds. It hasn’t even occurred to me for once in so many days now that everything is not as it used to be.

No I don’t spend sleepless nights oft times. No I do not dream about the valleys and moons, and swans and sunsets. I am no day-dreaming at all, for like innumerable days. No I don’t even spare my single moment thinking about it for as long as I can remember.

I don’t even reflect on your smoggy, spell-binding, dreamy eyes or adorably fascinating smile. Why should I? Why would I even get into all this dramatic, filmy and unreal stuff, utterly unnecessary rites, and pointlessly worldly, illogical and irrational rituals?

No I am not in love with you, you get it? And no I am not lying, you hear it? I am not lying. I am definitely not lying. And you know that.


The moon, the sun, the ocean, the moon and I

Sometimes, you have no idea whatsoever of how a simple conversation with one of your very good friends would turn into something like this. It all started with a “Kese ho? Hua kia he? [How are you? What has happened?]” and here is what followed; a dialogue on a force that binds and the irony of being.

Me: Kese ho? Hua kia he? [How are you? What has happened?]

Mira: I’m fine. Nai muje kuch nahi hua. Kyun? [No. Nothing has happened to me. Why?]

Me: Matlab [I mean] why are you so down?

Mira: How do you know?

Me: Aiwen ee, I know. Konsi sochain hen? [Oh forget it. I know. What’s on your mind?]

Mira: Ever heard of a Rumi’s quote that I love:

“Anyone who knows me should learn to know me again. For, I am like a moon. You will see me with a new face every day.”

Samjho moon ka abhi crescent phase hai. Wese he. Random sochen. Tanhai mode. Nothing much. [Suppose, it’s just a crescent phase of the moon. Just anyway. Random thoughts. Seclusion mode. Nothing much.]

Me: But crescent is just a display for the world. In reality, the moon is always moon. Splendid. Unique. Beautiful and whole.

Mira: This is yet again what’s usually on display. In real, it’s hollow empty with no light of its own.

Me: Find your sun then. The moon is never hollow by the way.

Mira: A borrowed light is never your own. Once it’s full and bright. Next is full darkness.

Me: Even when it reflects no light during the day, it looks unusually beautiful.

Mira: It’s the light of the sun that makes it “the moon”. What a pity. Had he not been there, the moon would have gone in oblivion.

Me: What if the sun might be craving to lend some light? And feel blessed and endowed for the companionship. And the bond may be a favor to sun rather than the moon herself.

Mira: The sun is never alone. He has lots of moons at his mercy. Each conferred with his light and each thinks [ironically, that] it complements the sun.

Me: Oblivion is inevitable, one thing. The sun and the moon we talk about complement each other. No second moon I have ever seen around. The details will get us lost into the Milky Way and multi-million galaxies. No?

Mira: The sun has a whole galaxy for him [at his disposal]. The moon is just a figment in the illusion of being bethroned. Yeah it will. I can go on forever because I don’t know what I’m talking about.

Me: The sun still shares intimacy with the moon despite all those more significantly huge stars in the galaxy the sun boasts of. The kinship they share has no parallel. The cronyism is just perfect.

Mira: Don’t you think an ocean complements moon better? At least moon doesn’t need a benefactor here. And feel powerful. With nothing borrowed.

Me: They make each other look beautiful yeah. Love triangle.

Mira: Ocean mighty and arrogant. And moon helps him to become what he wants to be. An affinity unparalleled.

Me: I so much wanted to oppose this just for the sake of it. But I am so much in love with the ocean that I couldn’t.

Mira: I just love the independence and the uniqueness of this relationship. Mysterious and play full on equal grounds.

Me: The moon makes him [the ocean] look powerfully pretty; and the sun its accomplice. This calls for an idea of interconnectedness.

Mira: The sun just lends reflection to give moon a face. The ocean lets the moon exert her own little force to make her feel powerful.

Me: Individuals, separate, deserted, oblivious, dark, bright powerful or powerless. All interdependent. One complementing and complimenting the other.

Mira: It all ends where necessity ends and complementing each other begins.

Me: Nobody does the other any favor. They just are what they are. And still complement each other. “And still, after all this time, the Sun has never said to the Earth, “You owe me.” Look what happens with love like that. It lights up the sky.” [Hafez]

Mira: Sun loves to own. His throne is the galaxy with thousands of his moons but will never tolerate another sun. This is what the moon tries to get from the sea.

Me: The sun never tells the moon that she owes. Neither does moon. Does moon ever tell the ocean that she makes the otherwise dull and dead existence of ocean awesome and majestic? They just stay the way they are. Powerful, majestically beautiful yet humble, always.

They just cherish each others’ company ever since the times immemorial and shall keep doing so until an eternity.

Mira: Certain things are never told. Every time the moon has to get lost in oblivion, it knows it’s reduced to nothing. Then it’s exalted before being pushed again into darkness. The sun has his ways to tell. How unfair! Never lets the poor moon forget that he still owns her.

Me: There is a reason behind this humility. The sun knows its limits. It knows it has nothing unique about him, and that it’s just another star in a constellation of millions of other galaxies.

He has no reason to be vain. He has just got some set rules to follow and the moon is bound by birth programmed to disappear.

Mira: Then maybe moon does to the ocean what sun does to moon? To feel power, strength and independence? Is this the irony of being?

Me: Interconnectedness is what keeps them going. Kinship is what makes them special.

Mira: This kinship is what binds them. With poor moon sandwiched between the two lol

Me: [laughs] I believe, the sun and the ocean both die for the moon. Such is her grace and beauty and light. The light of the moon is more beautiful than the light of the sun. It’s the same light though. But it’s the fiery touch of the moon that makes it magical, soothing.

When the same is exclusive, nobody even dares to look at it, abhor it, shifts eyes to avoid its mere sight. The moon makes it soothing.

Mira: This is the reason why the moon survived for thousands of years. The idea of being loved despite all the painful phases she has to go through.

Me: See we come to the conclusion that moon makes light of the sun watch-worthy and makes the ocean look majestic. And is still an object of love, desire and envy.

Mira: Lol At last. If that gives enough reason to the moon to forget her own vulnerabilities.

Me: Nobody is free from vulnerabilities; even the indefatigable and infallible sun or the mighty ocean. The idea is to survive with vulnerabilities. And survive beautifully, gracefully.

And I’m surprised and awe-struck at same time to know that the moon turns her vulnerabilities to make them look most coveted traits.

Mira: True. Maybe these vulnerabilities are what making it look beautiful to both of them. Making them realize their strength? Giving them sense of being?

Me: A big No. It complements them both. The sun light all by itself is a nuisance, an irritation, pain. An ocean without moonlight is dull and dark.

Just look at how in a full moon the ocean exerts all his force just to touch her [the moon] for even once by creating the longest currents possible. In vain though. The moon for him is but a desire. Unmet. Unrealized.

Mira: The moon might complement them but she herself survives on them. Complete dependence on sun and self-assurance from moon. This is what makes it less equal. I just wish the moon remains moon even if the sun changes his mind.

That’s what makes moon feel powerful. Somewhere to mirror what the sun does to her. The fuller the moon the more enraged the ocean gets due to his helplessness. This is what is so appealing to the moon.

Me: Nobody owes none, I repeat. The moon is still the most coveted. Still the best of the three despite all its imperfections and vulnerabilities. And it’s not just the sun and ocean, I got a feeling I am in love with the moon too.

It has no match. It’s simply perfect with all its imperfections.

Mira: Haha. So lucky! The moon has a third contender lol.

Me: An admirer. Not a contender.

Like they have lived for millions of years, you see. They must be generous enough to accept the forth one too. If they were contenders, life would be hell you know.

Mira: Maybe that’s why they are still alone. And maybe that makes this whole thing going on and on and on since times immemorial.

Me: And maybe that is why love is still lasting. Kahin parha tha [had once read] love has nothing to do with keeping those you love around.

Mira: True. If moon rejoins any of them, it will result in its own end. Moon is so coveted because it’s alone and mysterious.

Me: And that love is a kind of a link between two souls that makes them blossom. The full blossoming asks for that link to be severed.

Mira: While both the sun and the ocean will remain. Might fall for some star.

Me: Now that must be painful. It always is. Imagine anything getting severed.

Mira: True. I think love thrives in separation.

Me: The idea of love is to take one beyond the realm of separation.

How about some assumptions? What if the sun and ocean never fall for any other star?

Mira: It has to be in the soul. Not in essence.

Me: Quite possible. Love that is not linked with soul is mere preoccupation, pretext. Illusion.

Mira: The sun will remain the king of millions of other moons, while the ocean might just get gloomy at times. Isn’t it the moon which has to pay the biggest price?

Me: “If moon rejoins any of them, it will result in its own end.” Right?

Mira: Maybe that’s why it chooses to stay alone. Knowing that the same admirers are very capable of its destruction.

Me: Not necessarily. It can result in consummation too. Resulting in the one whole and united. Perfection maybe.

Mira: But the identity of the moon will be gone forever. Self annihilation is always in the fate of moon.

Me: When the parts meet, the whole exists. It’s not necessarily the annihilation. The rainbow is one despite having seven colors.

Mira: Rainbow is the new being. All part of the magic. The sun will never accept a new identity at the cost of his own. While the ocean is not capable of making anything new. Everyone chooses the moon to sacrifice.

Me: And by the way, let’s not confuse love with possession. The later is ‘wajibul-qatl’ [kill -worthy]

Mira: [laughs] Sometimes the ways of the world tie the toe and the rest of us end up searching for love in the later.

Me: Consummation of souls and existence is important. When souls consummate, the existence gets elevated, nobody perishes.

Mira: That’s hard in practice.

Me: Hard is not synonymous with the impossible. Love that asks for sacrifice is no love at all. Love empowers.

Mira: Rare is the word. Very low chances. Till then shine like a moon lol

Me: Always shine like a moon. True love parts its ways when feels like casting shadows rather than light.

Mira: Remember, the moon still doesn’t leave her sun even in the shadows to keep things going. This is how it’s expected of her.

Me: We have a scenario; ‘true love parting ways to keep her beloved shining and in return isn’t let go of by the beloved.’ Isn’t that perfection?

One forsaking for love. And the other committed companion holding onto love no matter what. Despite all odds.

Mira: Right. Once the moon learns that this is an exclusive special bond between the two, it might even head for its own annihilation of self into the sun.

But it knows, it’s not “the one” but one of many.

Me: haha perfect. Here we had been talking about adding celestial bodies into the solar system. And the astronauts discovered two more planets in the Solar system. How did they find out that we were discussing the same? Wasn’t that quick?

Mira: That shows, the sun plays its cards quite well. Jabhi moon ne ek option rakha hua hai ocean ka. [That is exactly why the moon keeps its option of the ocean open]

Me: [laughs] The moon is a loyal companion. The sun loves only her. The ocean is their rendezvous. All other stars and planets are mere translations. Truce? *winks*

By the way, let alone these two more newly found planets and multi-million other bodies being part of the sun, the relation that the sun shares with moon, such a beautiful relation can be shared by none.

Mira: Perhaps that is why it’s still going.

Me: And shall keep going. Until an eternity. Never together yet never separated.

Mira: That is the beauty of it.

Me: So Consummation of souls is possible, right?

Mira: Of souls, yes. Otherwise I doubt the other one which DH Lawrence calls “star equilibrium” in “Women in Love”

Me: Agreed. Ab tension ko maro goli, ‘melancholy me’ ke badle ‘toofani me’ bano. [Kill tension. Be a “stormy-me rather than a melancholy-me”]

Mira: Wo bhi phase ayega. Coming soon. [That phase shall come too. Soon] We all women are like moon. Our phases. So it’s natural in a way. There are reasons to denote moon with feminine traits.

Me: But moon is never melancholy. Is it?

Mira: Each one is different. Andhery raat k baad chodhvy ke chand ki trhan chamakte bhi hyn hum. [We shine too like a full moon after an eclipsed one]

Me: Is that why I have always loved the moon? Feminine traits?

Mira: Maybe. I always loved moon myself. The moon is my ascendant anyway

Me: Yeah. It’s beautiful. Let me reiterate, and magical. I love it even more now.

Mira: So do I; feeling more kinship towards it now.

Me: Exactly. Now we have the moon, the sun, the ocean, the moon and I.

Mira: Lol. Lots of friends we made today, already.

Me: Lots of unfailing friends. Hope to keep them for good.

Mira: Don’t worry. They’ll outlive us. They are free from time and space and mundane affairs.

Me: Point. They’re free. We’re not. We’re who the trouble lies with. Mortal. Short-lived.

(To be continued)


Kimya – into the oblivion

Kimya, oblivious of what was coming next, fell in love and fell in love with, God knows how to explain and/or personify, the inexplicable. The object of her love was brighter and fierier than the sun; grace more than that of the moonlight and charm as good as that of stars. Kimya’s mortal self, in contrast, was as humble as a setting sun, a fast disappearing new moon visible for a quick run and/or stars amidst clouds hiding. Despite a contrast being as shocking one, the setting sun vanishes leaving a hope of rising again, the new moon of becoming full, and the stars of getting rid of the clouds and attaining the similar lost attention. Kimya’s ascent and zenith meant, with the beloved, a perfect union.


Date a Girl Who Writes

Date a girl who may never wear completely clean clothes, because of coffee stains and ink spills. She’ll have many problems with her closet space, and her laptop is never boring because there are so many words, so many worlds that she’s cluttered amidst the space. Tabs open filled with obscure and popular music. Interesting factoids about Catherine the Great, and the immortality of jellyfish. Laugh it off when she tells you that she forgot to clean her room, that her clothes are lost among the binders so it’ll take her longer to get ready, that her shoes hidden under the mountain of broken Bic pens and the refurbished laptop that she’s saved for ever since she was twelve.

Kiss her under the lamppost, when it’s raining. Tell her your definition of love.

Find a girl who writes. You’ll know that she has a sense of humor, a sense of empathy and kindness, and that she will dream up worlds, universes for you. She’s the one with the faintest of shadows underneath her eyelids, the one who smells of coffee and Coca-cola and jasmine green tea. You see that girl hunched over a notebook. That’s the writer. With her fingers occasionally smudged with charcoal, with ink that will travel onto your hands when you interlock your fingers with her’s. She will never stop, churning out adventures, of traitors and heroes. Darkness and light. Fear and love. That’s the writer. She can never resist filling a blank page with words, whatever the color of the page is.

She’s the girl reading while waiting for her coffee and tea. She’s the quiet girl with her music turned up loud (or impossibly quiet), separating the two of you by an ocean of crescendos and decrescendos as she’s thinking of the perfect words. If you take a peek at her cup, the tea or coffee’s already cold. She’s already forgotten it.

Use a pick-up line with her if she doesn’t look to busy.

If she raises her head, offer to buy her another cup of coffee. Or of tea. She’ll repay you with stories. If she closes her laptop, give her your critique of Tolstoy, and your best theories of Hannibal and the Crossing. Tell her your characters, your dreams, and ask if she gotten through her first novel.

It is hard to date a girl who writes. But be patient with her. Give her books for her birthday, pretty notebooks for Christmas and for anniversaries, moleskins and bookmarks and many, many books. Give her the gift of words, for writers are talkative people, and they are verbose in their thanks. Let her know that you’re behind her every step of the way, for the lines between fiction and reality are fluid.

She’ll give you a chance.

Don’t lie to her. She’ll understand the syntax behind your words. She’ll be disappointed by your lies, but a girl who writes will understand. She’ll understand that sometimes even the greatest heroes fail, and that happy endings take time, both in fiction and reality. She’s realistic. A girl who writes isn’t impatient; she will understand your flaws. She will cherish them, because a girl who writes will understand plot. She’ll understand that endings happen for better or for worst.

A girl who writes will not expect perfection from you. Her narratives are rich, her characters are multifaceted because of interesting flaws. She’ll understand that a good book does not have perfect characters; villains and tragic flaws are the salt of books. She’ll understand trouble, because it spices up her story. No author wants an invincible hero; the girl who writes will understand that you are only human.

Be her compatriot, be her darling, her love, her dream, her world.

If you find a girl who writes, keep her close. If you find her at two AM, typing furiously, the neon gaze of the light illuminating her furrowed forehead, place a blanket gently on her so that she does not catch a chill. Make her a pot of tea, and sit with her. You may lose her to her world for a few moments, but she will come back to you, brimming with treasure. You will believe in her every single time, the two of you illuminated only by the computer screen, but invincible in the darkness.

She is your Shahrazad. When you are afraid of the dark, she will guide you, her words turning into lanterns, turning into lights and stars and candles that will guide you through your darkest times. She’ll be the one to save you.

She’ll whisk you away on a hot air balloon, and you will be smitten with her. She’s mischievous, frisky, yet she’s quiet and when she has to kill off a lovely character, when she cries, hold her and tell her that it will be alright.

You will propose to her. Maybe on a boat in the ocean, maybe in a little cottage in the Appalachian Mountains. Maybe in New York City. Maybe Chicago. Baltimore. Maybe outside her publisher’s office. Because she’s radiant, wherever she goes. Maybe even outside of a cinema where the two of you kiss in the rain. She’ll say that it is overused and clichéd, but the glint in her eyes will tell you that she appreciates it all the same.

You will smile hard as she talks a mile a second, and your heart will skip a beat when she holds your hand and she will write stories of your lives together. She’ll hold you close and whisper secrets into your ears. She’s lovely, remember that. She’s self made and she’s brilliant. Her names for the children might be terrible, but you’ll be okay with that. A girl who writes will tell your children fantastical stories.

Because that is the best part about a girl who writes. She has imagination and she has courage, and it will be enough. She’ll save you in the oceans of her dreams, and she’ll be your catharsis and your 11:11. She’ll be your firebird and she’ll be your knight, and she’ll become your world, in the curve of her smile, in the hazel of her eye the half-dimple on her face, the words that are pouring out of her, a torrent, a wave, a crescendo – so many sensations that you will be left breathless by a girl who writes.

Maybe she’s not the best at grammar, but that is okay.

Date a girl who writes because you deserve it. She’s witty, she’s empathetic, enigmatic at times and she’s lovely. She’s got the most colorful life. She may be living in NYC or she may be living in a small cottage. Date a girl who writes because a girl who writes reads.

A girl who writes will understand reality. She’ll be infuriating at times, and maybe sometimes you will hate her. Sometimes she will hate you too. But a girl who writes understands human nature, and she will understand that you are weak. She will not leave on the Midnight Train the first moment that things go sour. She will understand that real life isn’t like a story, because while she works in stories, she lives in reality.

Date a girl who writes.

Because there is nothing better then a girl who writes.

– By an Anonymous Writer


Date a Guy Who Writes

Date a guy who writes. Date that someone who doesn’t concern too much being the best looking man in the world. The guy who doesn’t toil for minutes or hours in front of the mirror. He spends an ample time in his room, or on a solitary bench in a public park, or on train and bus stations with his pen and notebook formulating the perfect words, putting life in his lines through wordplay, writing the loveliest poems. He doesn’t mind being alone on weekend nights in the back-alleys or risking his life climbing the roof just to have an unobstructed view of the sky, to muse with the stars and summon a conversation with the moon. He doesn’t mind battling the cold that bites his skin as long as he tunes the right melody for the song he’s writing for your anniversary,or a guaranteed chapter entry on his book, that he is anticipating to give you on your birthday. Yes, he doesn’t loathe the fact that he is stuck in that place, in that moment in time, squeezing his brain, while his friends are out there, in the open drinking to the high of weekend parties, dancing in smoke-filled bars and drowning to barrels and barrels of liquors.

Find a guy who writes, a walking cliché of kill-you-with-words, and when you do, make no mistakes letting him go. His wit, his spontaneity, rapture and heart for aesthetics will suffice for all those romanticism you have in mind. Date that someone who doesn’t kill himself in gyms, just to have the perfect body, the manly facade and never go for the too neat, too clean— you will discover over time that it is dragging and lame having a partner, a man who spends on shower threefold longer than you do. Date a guy who doesn’t dream having the Brad Pitt’s face, but the one who reads, learns and writes like of John Keats romance’s. The one who seeks for Stephen King’s thrill and the war stories of Ernest Hemingway. Date a guy who doesn’t give you a litany of promises lost in the haze of cheap talk, date that someone who acts, who makes you feel you are special even before you find yourself versed in one of his poems, resembling one of his story characters. Date that someone who stays with you, dream with you and writes random nothing on your palm or on your arms, because he fears that the words won’t come out right when he starts speaking them.

Date a guy who writes, the one who can skim the oceans in your eyes and write a line about it, that someone who can swim in it just to string those lines to make a stanza and can drown there if that’s all it takes to combine those stanzas into a beautiful work of poetry. Date a guy who can translate the amber glow in your face into haiku and sonnets. That someone who never tires scribbling his pen in dire search for muslin haze for streaks of clarity.

When that guy asks for your hand, give a sureshot “yes”. He sees life in a general scheme and weighs all the options from there, the same way he chooses the right words, the best point of view and perspectives just to incorporate beauty in his writing. Jumping into conclusion is not his game, he probably learned that it is not practical from a thousand fictional dilemma he wrote. And you will not live in monotony and routines, he can put colors in your days the same way he resorts figurative languages, the same way he puts flowers and butterflies in his words. And your leisure times will not be spent on themed parks, signature shops and wherever-transatlantic-cruise that is, spending the money you saved for a year in just one day. He will teach you to appreciate God’s creation and find happiness in the most mundane of things— on the sun rising behind the trees, the music of birds chirping and the dance of leaves in graceful sways, the breeze that kisses your cheek, your face, touching your heart with a magical feel, all the way to your bones, sunsets and silhouettes, the placid sea and the story behind a seagull or a fishing canoe that blemishes the scene. This list can go on forever, and the guy who writes is birthed with utmost appreciation to this, with sheer gratitude and he has an innate understanding that this whole divinity is meant to be shared with someone.

He might get lost in conversations, and becomes remote in an instant, but you are willing to make it up, because you know, at the back of your head that you are already transcending the touches of reality, lost in the not-so-distant world of make believe, living in the beauty and power of imagination, the world behind the written words.

– By an Anonymous Writer