A Game of Peek-A-Boo in A Frame

A late night walk in the corridors that she didn’t know a year ago,
She stared at the twins as they put on a show.
They played hide and seek, finding herself alone on that street;
She watched them gamble with the dice,
the amusement of finding one’s vice.
Treating it like a game, she found this and never felt the same.
Everyone begs to be found, you’ll always have something to hide,
All you need to do is free your imprisoned pride.
Let’s call a truce and change the spots,
shuffle the same old rules by marking on ‘em new dots.
Shake up your faith and stop playing the fool,
let’s pretend its your first day back at school.

She stands in front of you, fifty-one floors under,
this game of hide and seek wasn’t her biggest blunder.
She was a swimmer but knew how to drown first,
for others who only saw in her the worst.
Never made an effort to grab onto a float,
she rejoiced her drown, with a cocktail of happy-gloat!
Sometimes she wondered if she drowned in the depths of her own heart, the sound of a raging drum proclaimed her to start.
So she picked up her mighty pen; seven, eight, nine and ten;
inscribed the digital ink with experiences in sums,
Ready or not, here she comes!


Join me on the dark side

I’m generally a cheerful person. I’m usually full of love, life, and happiness. I open my eyes in the morning and feel excited to be alive.

There was a time, though, when it wasn’t so easy. When blinking and breathing and speaking all took so much effort that I thought I may as well give up: I was in a dark hole of sadness and anger and confusion.

I didn’t think I was gonna make it, but you did.

For the friend who stood by my side through the storm: the one who held my hand and never let as much as a finger untie from our grip, the person who could see through my darkness when I wasn’t able to.

For the beautiful soul who believed in transformation, who believed in healing, and time, and growth. Who never once judged me for my heartache, grief, and anguish.

Who, when the world was torture to live in, gave me a piece of hope, a breath of fresh air, and a tiny scrap of faith that things might begin to change.

For the friend who was delicate with their words and capable of pushing me forward. Who didn’t mind coming to join me in the dark corner, who actually came and sat with me for a while.

You endured my aching mind, heart, body, and soul. You crawled inside me and frantically looked for the broken pieces that I couldn’t find myself. You pulled me through an impossible tornado that I thought was going to eat me whole.

You loved me at my worst. You never gave up on me. You saw through my opaque pain.

You made me smile when I couldn’t do it myself. You spoke words for me when I was lost. You looked me right in the eye and knew that I wouldn’t be like this forever.

You knew. You waited. You never left.

Dear friend, Thank you.

Something borrowed from a deep soul, dedicated to the soul that is deeper than the galaxies the solar system can engulf ❤

The Unfamiliar Territory of What it Used to Be

He used to be…
That unfamiliar territory of “used to be.”
Failed. Attempted. Failed again.
I should’ve. I could’ve. I would’ve. I did.
I didn’t. Didn’t. Didn’t.

I had mastered the of art of telling you everything
In such a way that you always thought you knew so little.
The stories and characters we used to tittle
Were everything he used against me to belittle.

He picked up a smoke, waited till I broke,
He wanted to choke after he finished his smoke.

She gathered all her sadnesses, her hurts and pains,
She was the fallen star whose scars sustain.
And in her alone days she put in them into her ink pot,
A place she made sure wasn’t forgot.

She let her ink absorb them,
A place they felt more at home
So she might raise the glass someday to all of her own.

For she knew that ink would write her wrongs and make it all worthwhile,
So she wore her smile and starting living her style.

Rollercoasters are fun they said

It was a question I had worn on my lips for days, weeks, months even – like a loose thread on my favourite sweater I couldn’t resist pulling – despite knowing it could all unravel around me.

“What’s wrong with you babe?” she asks. “Why can’t you be the happy person you used to be?”

I do have an answer: “Why don’t you just understand that? Aren’t you that friend anymore?”

The last 3 months have been a roller coaster ride. That experience when you first buy the ticket to your favourite city in the world to the bit you wait for your turn in line for the visa papers to be approved. You get in, strap up your safety locks and it begins. The long trek up to the top most floor, where you take a breathe and admire the view of the city that surrounds you like that warm security blanket.

The moment feels like the Champs-Élysées of all moments! This is the moment where you plummet down the really fast elevator suddenly and your heart stops to look around on the floor it halts. Am I alive or dead? Am I dead? Am I alive? Oh gosh… This will all be over in a minute or seconds I think. No wait! I worked damn hard to get here and I don’t deserve this. Maybe I do! I do…  

But do I really? Its now round 2 and oh my god it’s the same edge that I felt earlier. Ok ok this is over. No wait. Oh god its going in for the turn. Great! This is never going to end. There’s the plummet again where I am dying. Not actually but my heart and liver got left behind where it started. Oh no…. oh no, wait what? It spins? Damn it. Few more heart skips, jump, throttle, spin, jump, drift and STOP.

Rollercoasters are fun they said. Are they? 3 years ago I made a commitment to the bosses and workplace who stood dear to my heart, that I will earn, travel and never give up the passion for work! I din’t until I realised that giving up wasn’t an option anymore. It was the only thing that was standing between staying happy and going insane. I worked like crazy and got told off I wasn’t good enough to last. Broke my heart to hear it, but it was real. My passion had changed, just like the ‘company’ had changed. So, with a heavy heart and mind I quit the place in December and took a vacation. Yet, this is what my anxiety felt while on a vacation, on top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris. Yes I have anxiety or/and depression AND THIS IS VERY REAL. In the reflection, the sadness in the eyes sings— I was destined, for better things.

ME! Out of all people I never imagined I would have this. I was stronger than this I told myself. But, I’m not. Bahrain, London, Brussels, Amsterdam, Paris, Bangalore, Amritsar and Delhi. Crossed the seven seas to create moments, experiences and memories. A connection to connect again. Why had I mentally disconnected? But, no! I carried my anxiety across four continents. Travel is said to be different things, yet I found myself lost within my own mind though my passport had more stamps for me to get lost in.

Why did I stop being poetry or that favourite quote I liked?

Did I become a slogan or someone else’s problem?

When did I become the last line in the poem?

I am a slightly OCD person when it comes to things I organise or do. In real, I’m messy AF. I talk without thinking all the way through the words in my head. I don’t follow everything I want to do. I don’t follow regimes or eating schedules. I don’t follow rules but diss the others who don’t too. The biggest tell of my messiness is my body. You can tell. I don’t eat healthy, I don’t exercise or run marathons with multiple causes. But, in my head I’m an athletic human who has washboard ABS.  I’m anxious all the time about this and a million other things. I imitate cleanliness within my body only to mess it up in my head shortly after.

And yet, there is one thing about me that is organised and precise: my life. Or rather, I work the hardest at making my life as controlled as possible. I love making plans. Travel plans. Financial plans. Coffee plans. I try to schedule everything. The anxiety of the uncertainty will continue to torture me until the uncertainty is made certain.

This happens to me in the seemingly most meaningless and stress-free situations. Like I had to meet a few friends over dinner a couple of days ago after decent long time. I freaked out over the fact that my friends had invited some other people who I dint know were going to be there in the first place. I mean, why dint they tell me? Like what could go wrong if I met some extra people? What if they don’t like me? What if I spilled something while talking to them? What if they think I eat too much chicken? What if they comment saying I’ve become more plump?

Just thinking about this experience makes me feel unpleasant. And of course, like everything I stress about, it all worked out just fine. It was a pleasant evening where India won against Pakistan. We drank, ate some chicken, spoke about silly things and laughed uncontrollably.

Control. Maybe that’s my problem. Do I feel anxious about not being in control? Is that it?

It’s even worse when the plans must be changed. There have been many instances where I have cried over an unforeseen situations and changed plans even though they would’ve worked out perfectly fine. Why? Cause I felt loss of control over my being, my emotions.

I know how ridiculous this all sounds. I really wish I weren’t this way. I wish that I could have the maturity to know that everything will work out just fine. I wish that such a simple task of reorganizing a plan would not stress me out to tears.

And yet, I continue this life of anxiety. It’s my addiction for control. How ironic that my quest for the control of my life causes my sanity to spiral out of control.

I am an addict and I admit it, but I wonder what you think about it.

When you are not friends with the monster and can’t explain why

Have you ever felt hunted inside your own head?

Like a predator is loose in there, stalking you like prey?

Like there is a thing inside of your mind, a dark, dangerous, devious thing and it is stalking you. Your mind, a forest of beautiful trees and alive with birds and wild things alike, is eerily silent, a shroud of night covering it like a blanket on a too hot night – this is what suffocating is. But on the outside, you are breathing in oxygen as you always do. Your mind has sliced itself away from your body, and you have no control over what happens in there anymore. But you are still in this forest. You are alive in there…and there is a thing, an evil thing stalking you.

It starts to set parts of your head aflame, a forest fire threatening to take over you as it tries to smoke you out of your own head. Panicked, you are running, knowing you are being hunted, you are being chased, and you do not even know what the thing that is hunting you looks like. If you could give this fear, this terror a name, it would be better – a lion, a tiger, a shark, a thing that wants your blood and meat, nothing else from you, but this goes deeper. This thing wants every peaceful part of your mind. This thing wants to set you on fire and watch you burn, laugh at your ashes and then bring you to life so it can do it again. Or worse, swallow you whole and keep you in an abyss of eternal sadness inside your own head.

You are running inside the labyrinth of your mind, as it grows more and more complex, away from the thing, yet drawing closer to it, you can smell it the way it grows closer to you with ease. It doesn’t even need to run. Somewhere in the distance in the hot dusty trail within this maze of a forest, you see the house, the place inside your head where you keep the softest, kindest memories. This is where you keep your cushions for when life throws you hard against the wall and you are lying bleeding on the floor. This is the place you must go to…Singed by the flames, you run faster and faster, the thing hot on yours heels until with all the strength you ever had, you throw yourself into this safe space with all the energy you have left within you and slam the door.

Panting, exhausted, you collapse, for the first time, feeling the rush of relief since it started its hunt. In here, you do not feel like prey. In here, you are safe. Until you open your eyes when you hear the breathing so close to you, the stink of its breath. It’s in here with you, and your eyes open wide as you realise too late…it has devoured your already, all of you now belongs to it. And all that is left is darkness.

This is what depression feels like. This is what it means when someone says they have depression. This is what depressed people mean when they say they feel devoured by sadness, unable to escape the pain inside their own heads.

Have you ever felt hunted inside your own head?

If not…I envy you your good fortune. But please do not be unkind when I tell you about the monster, the predator that lives inside my head.

Unlike Rihanna’s song – I am not friends with the monster who lives under my bed (or mind here). Explaining Depression to someone who isn’t depressed.

P.S: I borrow words without asking. But, I credit and admire the writer. When what I speak sounds the same as above but with more words from the dictionary and thesaurus added in. Why ruin masterpieces and call them my own? Hence, I tag them – Something borrowed.

To forget one’s own insignificance in the bright lights of the day

To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget.