My photo

People write diaries. Their diaries describe their personality. I write on my blog. It describes me way too well. :D
My writing takes me places my mind never wanted to go
Everyone writes. From the ink of their thoughts, by the pen of their mind on the page of their face. Everyone writes.I love to write. It is a passion; a compulsion; something that gives me an avenue to express myself. I write when I am happy; when I am sad or when an issue touches my heart. I find inspiration to write in every aspect of life.
This blog is dedicated to anything and everything that fills my thoughts and occupies cranial space

Friday, June 09, 2017


Yayyyy its Friday!!!!

Everyone in the office back there was so excited and as the evening was approaching, glow on everyone’s face was increasing.

Yea and why not they will be happy? One is going to his home over the weekend to meet his family. One girl was going to meet her husband after six months who just returned from abroad. Another guy was going on a dinner date with his wife. Out of all of them, Rohan was sitting in a corner with no expression on his face, watching all of them happy, wondering what he will doing over the weekend.

Rohan also waits for the weekend, because he can sleep for as long as he wants on Saturday morning, but time stands still every Saturday morning once he wakes up as there is nothing else to do. His weekend too starts on Friday evening once he reaches home. Oh did I just said home? Oh yea, a small 1BHK, a small square divided in 4 portions, a room, a hall, a small kitchen and a very small bathroom. But yes, its home for him. As they say home is where happiness is, but he is still finding the happiness in that home or home in that happiness.

Staying alone in a dark room, taking a long afternoon nap, no hangouts, no parties, these all were punishments for Rohan earlier and now these are his new habits. He now refuels himself by staying alone in his apartment from Friday evening until Monday morning. His laptop, cellphone and new JBL speakers are his partners in crime.

Amidst a polluted city, on a sleepless night, in a rented room he often wonders whether this was all he aspired for.

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Do you know

Do you know what the saddest part about moving on after a breakup is?

It's not putting a fake smile on your face at 1pm and laughing and giggling with your friends, telling then that you're perfectly fine and that you don't even care about anyone now, when your eyes keep on searching for her just to get a single glimpse at her face.

It's not those 1am sobs that you try to muffle into your favorite pillow that is now covered with your tear stains. Your pillow knows your story like no one else does, and has tenderly locked in itself every emotion you've ever poured out.

It's not the 3am breakdowns, when you cover your mouth with your hands to make no sound and your insides are howling, wanting to scream the hell out, even when you have no strength left in you.

It's not the talks you secretly have with her picture, confessing everything that you never were able to say otherwise. You pour out every story that you've wanted her to listen to, your every experience and your love for her.

It's not about holding a blade in your hand and wanting to end all the chaos altogether at once.

It's not your heartache when you want something that you very well know you can never have.

It's not when you look into her eyes, smiling like nothing has happened, when it is shattering you from the insides, making you bite your lips to stop yourself from breaking down.

It's not spending your nights starting at the blank walls of your room, imagining the countless possibilities you had together, and waiting for that one message from her which never comes.

It's not when your heart races and swoops down into a well of remorse and disgust for your own self after seeing her with him, loving him with all her heart, doing everything that you'd wished for.

It's not looking in the mirror and asking yourself why it wasn't you again and again, and then feeling worthless and telling yourself that you'll never be good enough.

It's not when you push everyone away because you think you're a broken piece of glass, sharp enough to hurt anyone who comes close to touch you.

It's actually when you realize that all that has led to this was a lie which you already knew about. And you end up  hating yourself, but you miss the lie and question the truth of the feelings it had given birth to.