"Feed me."
Says the app.
Feed me with bits of your life.
With who you met, what you ate and what you wore.
With how you feel and what you believe.

I can't, you say. 
It's needed, the app says.

Feeds and updates.
That web of lies and deceit.
That claim a life that you don't live.
A life of megapixels and comedy.

Look at life through a third eye.
Take a photo, it never lies.

Likes and comments,
Your social worth equals your self esteem.
Connect! It urges you,
Why should you be free?

You give in, you cave,
You update and wait.

Seemingly million eternities go by,
Until that blinking red dot on 
your little palm-sized monster seems to say,
"Congrats! You're connected!"

I'm the kinda girl who..

I'm the kinda girl who'll cry if you're crying.
The one who'll try and search for answers in your rain.

I'll be the one reminiscing about school days and sharing her youthful exuberance with you.
But i'll also be the one who 'mans-up' and is the mature one.

Don't try to unravel me.
Believe me I've tried. 

Where my soul ends and my ego begins,
is an imaginary boundary.

The kind who'll laugh freely and openly and not care.
The one who'll be happy in a rose, or a handwritten note

Simple outwardly, yet complicated with words.
Which come tumbling out awkwardly at times, 
and composed mellifluously when need be.

Full of contradictions. Yet so complete.

Thats the kind of girl I am.

My Spirit is Old, My Body Young.

My Spirit is old, my body young.
Burdened with songs left unsung.

Tomorrow is at the door,
bringing sorrows a score,
As night lays a-spread,
Morning is what I dread.

To sleep is hard,
till my soul departs.
I clothe my restlessness,
In deep darkness.

My Spirit has seen much,
It no longer can be touched,
I wish it could float away,
before a new day.

Yet the night I must endure,
To settle old scores,
Yes, I'll stay a while more,
With a Spirit sore.

About Anticipation.

I like anticipation.
I think everybody does.

You get home, undress and sleep - with an anticipation of tomorrow.

You have a fuzzy idea of what you'll do.
Wake up to wonder.

You prepare yourself for what you think will come.
And hope that it'll be enough.

You hope.
You reminisce.
You look before you leap.

Like tidy little sentences, you bind yourself.
And brace yourself.

To slay yet another monster.
For there are too many.

Come morning, you go through the motions.
Of slowly peeling off the sleep from your eyes.
And embracing the dawn.

Anticipation helps.
It's a strategist.
For the war you're about to wage on the world.

I like anticipation.
I think everybody does.


My body is young,
But my spirit is old.
Weary and weathered, 
by all that it beholds.

Words and thoughts meander,
they confound the present,
with deeds past,
remind you of your descent.

All that is good is gone,
from the other side of youth,
things glimmer,
all seems good.

But its a fallacy,
that preys upon the young,
they battle life until they die,
like heroes unsung.

No song of happiness,
escapes this dreary hole,
tattered pieces,
this is all that remains of this soul.

You lose it all one day,
and give up the fight,
after some years,
you forget to differ between the wrong and right.

Night-time is when we feel alright,
Night is like a friend,
A cloak to hide under,
When you've been torn up and rent.


We've all got a story to tell.

Fears to share.

Things to shout about from mountain tops.

I personally love writing about what I feel as opposed to saying it.

Maybe I'm more of a 'close your eyes and feel' person.
And when I close my eyes, I can see what I feel flash before my very eyes..

I do try to say what I feel at times.. Try and express myself in a way that is more prevalent and in use.

But nothing beats the feeling of putting your pen to paper and bleeding your emotions to make the ink that stains those pages.

Words spoken seem to float away in empty space. While writing them down traps them forever.

I prefer to be certain and remember what I felt ,than to let it pass.

The Friends We Lose In The Journey To 'Today'.

Growing up, I was always a very creative child.
I revelled in the glory of crayons, tubs of paint and blank canvasses.
I wanted to create, with anything and everything I could lay my hands on.
While my friends would spend their time on the swings, I would enjoy collecting the wet mud from underneath those swings. That was like clay for me, to be moulded as I desired.

As I grew up, I changed cities, schools, friends and as a consequence, my hobbies.
Even art periods in school were never conducive to what I really wanted to do.
Art teachers would ask me to paint a subject - mostly it was an apple on a table.
I would be careful to paint within the lines, while all that my heart really wanted to do was make bold strokes, that blurred the edges of what was supposed to be right or wrong.

Today, I am able to achieve satisfaction in this area by indulging in cooking.
I create with these two hands that I have been given.
It thrills me.
It completes me.

But there are a few friends that I lost on the way here.
I had to make a few trade-offs - time is valuable you see.
I had to cull away my creativity in order to give time to more pressing matters.
Education - and by this I mean "good" marks.
So that I can get into a college of repute.
Then a job.
And so on.

But Creativity is a part of me.
It has been my friend in those dark hours that plague most of us from time to time.
It has been an escape from the dreary reality that is sometimes too much to bear.
It has been a wonderful mirror to my thoughts.

I realized this today - You can't cull it away.
You can bottle it.
You can water it down.
But it will escape and astound you with what it can do.

I thought I'd forgotten how to sketch.
Until something I saw (a comic) - inspired me to try my hand at recreating it.

I realized how much I missed the feel of drawing paper. 
The slightly rough surface, designed to hold your pencil strokes forever.
It is forgiving and does not judge you.
It can contain your fevered mind in its strength.
You just need to trust it and start inking.

This is what I created.

And I feel amazing to know that my skills are not gone. They need a little bit of nurturing and reassurance.
But they've never left me.

An Indian Girl's World.

Live. Love. Eat.