I wonder what it’s like to be that girl.

I wonder what it’s like to be that girl. That girl— with white&black sneakers, with an over-sized hoodie and head sheltered from the rain, standing alone in a corner, engrossed in a phone conversation, looking all helpless, a tad bit drenched, petite, all alone, someone you’d really wanna protect even when you don’t know her. I wonder how would it feel to be in her shoes.
Big eyes, soft lips, worrisome face, partially hidden by the hood yet fragility oozing out effortlessly. I sit by the bus window, slowly passing by this slender figure, lost in her world, oblivious to how the world is perceiving her, more so, even be ready to go on a war to protect her.
She doesn’t have to try, doesn’t have to cry out loud, probably never had any crazy-pants moments to make people realize how hurt or how much in need she is.
People would run to send her troubles away into the thin air. Surprisingly, even me.
I wonder how relieved the feeling is to know you can let your guard down, show the world how vulnerable you are, admit helplessness through eyes and not be afraid of people judging you for showcasing a naked soul. I wonder how does it feel to be this free from your own entanglements of “I’ll manage”. Is this ‘being strong’ mean ?

What if I had been wrong all along? What if I learned the wrong meaning of ‘strength’?


The (un)commonest charm.

P.C. Pinteres

There is something about men holding an umbrella and carrying a tote bag.

On top of that stepping out of the library wearing the commonest of shirt, white sneakers, no jazzy watch. Being a simplest man, only rich in wisdom through his eyes.


How are we not talking about the hands anymore? Loudly?

You know when I sit beside you I, purposely look at your hands, leisurely rolling on the table. Half of your expressions are conveyed before the eyes or lips move. Like those hands hold the unasked love of the entire world or the description of your last vacation you try to tell in boomerang finger movements. Long, slender, enchanting fingers that melts me in the wall.

It mesmerises me madly how every body-part dances in some subtle excitement but then there are hands to show how far one can go from north pole to another through the extended arms giving everyone a giant hug. You make me believe I stand on the balcony of a fancy hotel overlooking Eiffel or getting ready to snowboard in alps and you there to catch me in your competent, certain hands if ever I fall.

They way your warmth-caked palms bang the table at a joke, the way those fingers brush against the glass you are holding, the way the tips caress water droplets, sliding your thumb up and down like its you who’s quenching its thirst not the other way round. It’s a revolution against boredom.

I’d love to get lost in those hands for hours, days or at 3am in the morning. Those arms, wordless and pouring of love. And the hug, warm countryside cottage on a chilly winter night. I’d love to give myself in in your fireplace.


The extremes one goes to…

Get me a thinnest stick,
So, I’d keep breaking my crutches
to show you I can be helpless.

I have set up a wrong example
by holding myself pretty well.
That you got to use your favourite
phrase again, slapping me right where it hurts,
“You are strong! You will handle!”


I refuse to believe that everyone
is not suffering. Suffering is (almost)
the only thing that makes you wanna
live more, strive for a better life,
to find an escape. A wonderland
only to return to realities at night.
I don’t believe people are as carefree
and untroubled as much they show
in their personal or social lives.

They’re merely passing the baton of suffering
from today to their tomorrow’s self.

The city will miss you….

And it’s going to be draining, exhausting, exciting, scary, wonderful, bitter and it will feel you leaving your castle behind to build a single room on your own terms and finances. The fear, the pain along with the freedom and eagerness to explore world will overwhelm you. You’d be free but you’d also be responsible for your house, cooking, cleaning, trash, dishes, maintenance, vehicles. It ain’t going to be easy. No one would be waiting at home. At times, you won’t be able to talk to your family much because of busy schedules or time zones or mood. It will take a heavier toll on you when you’d fall sick. You’ll miss home more than anything. All the plates of cut fruits that used to enter your room without a word will pile into uncooked meals which you gotta prepare yourself. You’ll become a person of lists, reminders if you aren’t already. You’ll become a cook over the phone while talking to your mom. You’ll think like her when buying groceries. You’d definitely do things more freely but you’d experience yourself becoming more and more responsible. It’s not going to be easy but it will be worth it.