suspiciously i
creeped into my head
to see what it was hiding
from me.

there i found
a box full of dreams
hid away from my
heart-
my cruel, cruel heart,

afraid that i may
discard it the way
i threw away
everything else.

**

i have longed to write. longed, to give in to this desire to burn every flaming thought into reality, to seek clarity, to learn, perhaps unlearn. i write not a song, but a lament. i wish to forget what i must remember, to do what i must not do, to destroy what i have kept for all this while. i am looking up while stepping down, looking up, while falling. i don't want to fall. i want to reel myself in, but at the same time, lurch upwards and fly. i am reeling myself in, yes, and i am lurching upwards, true, but i do this with no soul in it. i do this like an empty shell riding a wave.

**

everytime i have wished to write about my own sadness, i have managed to twist it into a story, to attribute it to a stranger that never existed except for in my own head, in my own heart, in the imagination that has stolen from me, all i ever had. i have created them, to hide me, i have lied, to disguise the truth. i don't wish to write a story today. may be tomorrow, i will erase this, or even hide these words behind some man with an obscure name that has come out my ocean of a head. this is the story of my life, and i don't think it is worth writing.

**

the neem leaves are turning yellow. they know that they must drop, that it will get cold. they imitate sunlight, take up a beautiful golden, shine for the last time underneath the pollution and fall.
this is autumn. the air is nipping. clawing, even, and i refuse to give in. not yet. for it is still warm. so am i. but for how long?

**

i am turning inward. turning to water to scream into, to let my frustration out on. i sing to let go, and i sing with my soul. these are the moments that i have for myself, and these are the moments i love. i read, but it has been a long time since i have read anything that i truly felt like a part of. like the audience that is enraptured, trapped in a world that is not my own, but feels like reality. i yearn for that escape, and i don't know where else to find it.

**

the criticism makes it worse. i pretend to enjoy those long talks with people who tell me exactly what it is about me they hate, and all those things that are wrong about me. i laugh it off, and pretend i know what i am hearing already, affirming their opinions. all i want is to hear it, so that i may assure myself that what i am thinking is right, that everything about me is wrong, that everything about me is wrong, that everything about me can be worded into a few people's ideas and beliefs, and i don't want to defend myself, i want to tell myself that i am the deluded one, and these talks only confirm my beliefs.

**

from what i read today, the self is easy to rebuild, and from what i remember of the rest of it, this rebuilding is like a narcotic (courtesy shalimar the clown that i decided i would not read but fell into). but what i read today gives me hope. that it is probably not difficult for me to undo and redo myself, that i can be a different person, perhaps pursued by the ghosts of some of my actions but untouched by their consequences.

hah. even saying it like this sounds silly.

**

He said no.
In not so many words.

He said no, in no words at all.

i thought i'd stop
and say hello.

i turned around
and looked for

you,
your deep, easy laughter

impressions of your feet
that i know so well,

your lanky silhouette
against the sun,

but you were gone.

i waited last night,
for those words to come,
pretending, ofcourse,
that i didn't care.
fiddling with my papers,
running my fingers
along the rim of my glass,
tracing drops of water
that melted in the heat-
losing hope slowly,
trickling away in patterns
along the aging wooden
table.

i wait still,
with your answers in my head
playing on repeat, like some old song
that harped on everywhere,
though a squeak in my head
tells me they're gone, now,
those words,
and only silence lingers
in waking sunshine
that slips through my fingers
and into
space.

urban silences

are somethings
that are created
solely
out of imagination.

they grow on you
steadily
as the noises fade
into your being,

layer, by layer,
as the volume
disintegrates,
you become immune
to sound.

(when you awake
in real silence
your ears screech
in the loudness of it all
to cover up
for the darkness.)

for my twin:

dearest chickoo,
i promise to be there for you forever:
(whether you like it or not)

through thick and thin,
through ups: with a hug and a hi-fi,
through downs: with a hug, at "a hand's distance."
through issues: on the phone through the night,
through problems: adopted, or your own.

through parties: and ananya's imitations of ntr moves,
through subways, and deli9s,
little italy, zafraan, waterfront
and spice king.

and long drives: some that broke our hearts,
changed our lives, and our perspectives
(not to forget your nails, with jhatack orange nailpolish),
and others with looking for ice cream at 12.00 am.

through cheese: dosas, pastas, sandwiches, cakes.
through icecream, pani puri, maggi, mirchi bajjis.
through vodka and orange juice,
through coffee, tea and red bull.
through chocolate, paneer (or lack thereof).

through long nights before exams and deadlines
i will console you, get pep talks, give some,
bitch some, curse some, study some, waste some time.

through fights: yours and mine, yours and an’s,
and ananya’s diplomatic skills.
(an and I don’t fight, remember?)

i promise to bug you forever:
i am only your sister playing nagging wife. heh.
(but mostly i shall bug you
when you're just about to fall asleep).

i shall be with you through madness and insanity,
through sense, through non-sense,

through long, winding conversations about world problems,
our lives, the rain, random people at college, basically bitchin';
short, empty conversations about ending the long ones.
through silences: in autos, on the terrace, on the phone.

through music: even if some songs we like talk about not washing off lipstick (ew!),
we also like songs about rainy nights in georgia,
and noone giving us the air that's ours to breathe.

us, we will dangle our legs over the world,
wondering what's to be of us,
laughing, crying, but fighting mostly,
eating, drinking, but talking mostly,

and i promise to be there for you, forever.

happy birthday.

**

Remember that time back in Aloor? When we were leaving, and one of those girls at camp said she'd keep you, and I non-chalantly said yeah okay, atleast that way I won't have anyone to bug me? She said, Yeah right, like I would, that you are my praanam..
I wonder what it was that made her feel that, we were hardly in the same room that day and I really didn't care about what she was saying right then, I was too tired.
I'm glad I have you, darling, 'cuz you really are my praanam, my Guardian Angel, my twin, and my best friend. :)

a forgotten piece
of coloured glass
from a broken
kaleidoscope
cut my foot
yesterday.

as the colours swirled,
i watched
glimpses of everything,
visions, of nothing.

a bright blue shard
i pulled out,
and covered in blood
it struck my heart.

a feverish fantasy
emerged at night,
as against the light,
against time,
i watched the stories
unfurl.

what pretty pictures,
it used to show!

in those shades
i saw
stories of joy,
of pain, of laughter,
in floating spirals
of diamonds
and rubies.

and when
i dropped it,
how they dissolved

how
they faded
into dreams and dust..

into glass and mirrors.