On Writing

The best of authors are those that make you want to write - my feelings while reading Americanah

Bombay Tales

Many different images come to mind when we think of Bombay : the touristy images of Marine Drive, the commercialised temples, the common man of the city, and so on. And yet, there is hardly any mention of the youngish, semi-rich urban middle class that fills the city's casual dining restaurants and theatres on a Saturday evening; the ones who religiously post (instagrammed) images of their latest foreign trip on Facebook, and then slog in office for long hours on weekdays to compensate.

Being a part of this community is amazingly liberating, and yet challenging. There is, of course, all the fun associated with earning more than you can spend, but then there is also the downside of spending endless hours trying to navigate the serepentine traffic jams that are a hallmark of the city. There is the joy of having left behind your rural/ semi urban home to create a new identity in a brand new city, but also the pain of no longer being in touch with your roots. Bombay has it all.

Most of us millenials are hyper achievers trying to outdo each other at everything, right from finding the best groom/ bride, to landing the coolest job and buying the most sophisticated furniture. In many ways, we are so different from all previous generations of our family, and yet, we are so similar. Who would have thought the desire to outdo the neighbourhood Sharmaji was inheritable?

Period

Did you notice
How you wasted away
The last chance I gave you?

I could forgive you
And move on
And keep on forgiving.

But I'm tired
Of waiting, of hoping.
And so it ends.

Metamorphosis

What if you never became
The butterfly you were meant to be?
What if you never came out
Of your tiny oyster shell?

What if you never had
The wings to fly?
What if your cocoon
Was all you saw in life?

Would you miss the things
That never belonged to you?
Or would you be happy
In the warmth and shade of your world?

Silence

Music blaring
on maximum volume.
The noise outside
Trying to drown
The noise within.
To ebb the flow
Of thoughts.
To ebb the gush
Of pent-up emotions.

Us and Them

How strange it is

That you and I

Should let Society's whims

Decide where our future must lie.

How strange that our love,

Pure and unblemished,

Must need this stamp

Before it can be cherished.

How strange that our love,

Which has blossomed forever

Must prove its mettle,

Like a writer, an amateur.

How strange that We, 

Who have seen perfect happiness, and more;

Must seek approval from those

Who believe two hearts cannot forever soar.

Crush

From constant facebook pokes
To staring away at you
Blissfully in class
(Luckily you haven't noticed yet-
Or have you?)
To hanging on to every piece of gossip
That has anything to do with you.
I can never have enough of you.

You're my new favourite toy.
Let's see how long you remain
At the top of my list.