Over the past year and a half, one of the most inevitable steps in my process of healing from a deep wound has become sharing it, right here. Inspired by the previous post I just reblogged, I realize that there is yet another wound in my heart that I pretend doesn’t exist. So today I write to give form, and release, to that wound, to allow it to bleed dry.

Relationships, funny things they are, they bring out the best and the worst in people, and then they often end, leaving us in the afterglow of that best and worst we were.

My last relationship ended over six months ago, it didn’t end too well. I was doing a rather nifty job of moving forward with my life when a couple of days ago something stopped me dead on my track. A friend relayed some nasty comments made about me in regard to my previous relationship by someone of menial importance in my life, and for some reason I could not understand it made me cry.

It didn’t just pass through my head like most irrelevant things do, but it entered and nested itself there to hatch a lot of little baby worries.

I spent hours trying to figure out why such a trivial matter could bludgeon my mind so much and then, amidst all the questioning and soul searching, I placed my finger on the answer.

Now mind you, I have quite a large ego, and for a person like me it isn’t easy to even consider, let alone accept, that I am wrong, so my little epiphany was not quite so little as I say.

I realized that the real reason I couldn’t stop the waterworks since I heard what I did was because deep within me, I knew that there was some amount of truth in some fashion to the statement.

Relationships are the mother ship of the love/hate balance in our lives, and often balances out all you give or don’t give other relations in your life through that one outlet. Sometimes it is love, and sometimes, hate.

I know it sounds funny to say you hate a person who are in a relation with, and maybe it isn’t quite hate, but sometimes you fall into a dissuasive pit of reasons why you shouldn’t be where you are, and yet you cannot climb out of the pit and so you throw out all your fury on the one person next to you in the pit, on the person who brought you there, on the person you can’t live with but cannot leave the pit because of, voila, presenting to you your less than perfect self.

I am not proud of it, but I allowed myself to be a person who simply tortured the living breath out of another human being. I was needy, crass, harsh, manipulative and the worst part, I was still me. I wish that I could say I was another person at the time, but the truth is so much harder than that. I was still me, I still walked like me and talked like me, I had the same friends and the same enemies, I still had the same beliefs and many of the same problems. And I did something wrong. The person I am today has done something wrong. That smarts.

I asked for forgiveness, sure, was Ii forgiven? I don’t know. But the main question is did I forgive myself? And the answer is no.

So today, as I write this, I try to come to terms with all that I did, all the tears and the irrationality, all the stubbornness and the accusations, all the petty destructive words hurled to and fro, all of it. I have no excuse for my less than perfect self, she just was, but today, I am trying to forgive her, and ensure she never, ever, takes away from myself again.



Originally posted on That's Another Story:

Quote about Scars


Every day when I am taking a shower and getting dressed, I cannot help but notice the visible scars that dot my body.  I earned my first scars, thanks to the chicken pox virus that my two older sisters exposed me to when I only 6 months old.  I only had six spots, yet three left their mark on my wrist, face, and thigh to remind me of this event that I was too young to ever remember.  There’s the faded scar on my wrist from burning myself on a pan when I was in the kitchen when I was a little girl, and the scars on both of my legs from surgeries over the years.  There’s also the scar on my knee from an embarrassing incident during my first night in Boston, which is definitely another story that will remain untold!  There are other visible scars, as well…

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Your 23rd.


Amidst the city’s favourite road, we scurried past a hundred people. There was a little girl selling roses obstructing our path. We tried to zig zag our way across her, but it’s safe to say she was an adamant little child.

He reached out his arm and asked her for a rose.

“Forty Rupees”, she said.

“Why?!”, I asked him.

“A rose for a rose”, he said.

Ofcourse, you trot all over the place proclaiming your dream pick up phrase, and someone is bound to pick it up. I smiled, it was still one in a lot of someones who would use it.

He reached into his wallet and removed a ten Rupee note “This is all I have”, he said.

I reached for my purse and extracted a thirty. “Isn’t this perfect?”, I laughed.

We both did, because despite the fact that I just bought a flower for myself and coined a line to match my name, it was pretty perfect.

I will always remember your so many visits to this city, for me. I will always, somehow, undeniably love you.


Happy birthday you silly boy! 23. How time flies!



I had once read somewhere that ‘don’t take yourself too seriously, no one else does.’ Wise life quotes and everything, you know. But I am here to tell you today that it is okay to take yourself too seriously, precisely because no one else will.

There are going to be times the whole world will look at you and wonder, isn’t she over him yet? They won’t care about the tiny nuances of what you feel, and even if you explain it most eloquently, they won’t understand, not how you want them to. Your really good friends will take a little more time of their schedules to try preaching solace, or maybe try listening, the others will tell you that you are in a hard place and it sucks. But the truth is no one takes you as seriously as you feel, because it isn’t possible to take an old story from another’s life so seriously. I know that, because I can’t do it.

They will always think, wasn’t this part of her self image fixed like six months ago when we spend a whole week pouring over it? They will not understand that some parts never get truly fixed, and that the tiniest splinters can equip you to moan in pain for a good many hours, if not days, or weeks.

They will never grasp how a long lost friendship still matters like ur everyday best friend, how you still question a decision made a year ago, how it matters that you are making, once again, a resolution you failed at a dozen times before, they won’t understand. No one can take you as seriously as you take yourself.

Sometimes I wonder, does that invalidate my right to take myself, my life, so seriously? To be as affected by it as I am? Is it okay to feel so much, to think so much about things that no one else sees reason enough to dwell on?

And then I remember, it’s my life. If I don’t take myself seriously, who will? If I don’t feel my pain, feel my joy, who will? Feelings inherently just are and there is little we can do to control them from arising. If you still feel it, let yourself feel. If you still want it, let yourself want it. If it still hurts like a broken limb, you are not meant to invalidate the pain.

No one is going to take pain from a year old fracture seriously, but those are the ones that need most attention, so you should know better.




Disillusioned, I lit a dying flame,

Today he’s burnt, the fire no longer tame

He’s burnt and I’m empty, you’re still ablaze so bright

Feasting, breaking, churning as your right.

We’re hollow, can’t you see?

Wasted on your burning spree.


Tell me you know your trail is ablaze

Scorching but every last hopeful ray

Darling, I’m bruised, I’m broken, I’m sore

I burnt someone else to even the score.


My skin is still livid from every last touch,

The memory of your fire still tingles so much,

Damnation is heaven, and you are ruler supreme,

Together, we’ve destroyed a bright eyed dream.

We’re vapid, can’t you see?

But for a red iron knee.


Tell me you know your trail is ablaze

Scorching but every last hopeful ray

Darling, I’m bruised, I’m broken, I’m sore,

I burnt someone else to even the score.


Skin to ashes, dreams to dust,

Now to give this hate is a must.


Tell me you know your trail is ablaze

Scorching but every last hopeful ray

Darling, I’m bruised, I’m broken, I’m sore,

I burnt someone else to even the score.


Write a song

Bring me to life


At the risk of turning more personal blog than public, I must yet again share the tale of a beautiful beautiful weekend.
Calling all fellow poetry lovers in Bangalore, I have discovered yet another perfect place for you to indulge in some spoken word love every month! Atta Galatta, in Koramangala hosts JugalBandi Tadka, a space for wonderful recitation and enactment of words written by your everyday Bangalorean. It takes place the third Saturday of every month (so you know what you are doing on the 23rd of August!) and take this little writer’s word for it, it is one of the most moving evenings the city beholds every month.
Here is the link to the page of let poetry be, the initiative that hosts the event.


It was a little event a few friends and I discovered last month on missing a play we were actually hoping to attend and it has been like magic upon my wounded soul both the times that I have attended. So I tell you, if you are in this city, you simply must take a couple of hours off on your Saturday and be here in this wondrous, transcendental space.
I think what makes this ever more so phenomenal for me was sharing it, each time, with very special, dear friends. Have you ever been with a bunch of really close friends and felt something move all your souls in the same manner? There is something there isn’t it? It is remarkable a thing to be moved emotionally and spiritually in itself, but the awareness that the ones you love are being moved just as much as you unites your souls in the journey and it is indeed spectacular.
The evening ended reconnecting with a very dear soul to me, and I felt a little bit of normalcy creep back and thwart the thatches of my derelict abode. He makes me wonder, always, about the what ifs and the whys, and helps keep me close to myself, so here is some love for you, my dear one.
It’s been yet another weekend that has breathed a little life into my weary shell and here is a whole truckload of gratitude for the day!