Why are you afraid of the dark?
It is when the creators come alive
To paint the skies in the colour of their soul
And their words in the colours of a rainbow.
It is during the dark,
Tears of unrequited love, broken dreams and lost hope
Melt away into the stars
And they shine the brightest
Maybe, because they listened to our stories.
During the dark,
People are not afraid to be themselves.
The moon does not chastise anyone
For drinking away into the night
Because she knows we intoxicate ourselves
To let go of a loved one.
The constellations do not care
About the many lips you have kissed
Because they have seen your infinite deaths
Before you found love that ignites you.
In the dark,
Conversations are the realest.
Love is the purest
And people are without inhibitions.
I still wonder
Why you are afraid of the dark.
Isn’t it the light
You are supposed to fear?



What lies in the spaces between words?
Yes, in the spaces.
Maybe, this tiny space
Contains emotions so overwhelming
That puts a writer to shame
For failing to conceive them into words.
How does something so vast
Fit into such a small entity?
They don’t.
They choke, stutter and gasp
And sever parts of themselves
To squeeze in.
Some of them survive,
While others ebb away slowly
And their remains are buried
Between the words.

How do I know this?
Oh, it’s no big secret!
Just like those emotions,
Sometimes people, who are pure but for a few blemishes
And cannot be defined by you and me or anybody,
Suffocate as the walls close in
And are found buried in the least cared for spaces;
Sometimes alive
And sometimes dead.

Death is an Art

I let a wave of unsolicited emotions
Wash over me
And I cry alone.
You do not hear my violent sobs, 
That usually leaves me gasping for air
Like a dying fish.
This time, it is a single teardrop
Trickling down from my swollen eyes
Onto my cheeks and pillows
As I lay down listening to Sylvia Plath read ‘Lady Lazarus’.

Would this silent torment
Come to an end
If my wrists bled
As much as my eyes cried?
Would I be fine
If I hugged you one last time?
Or should I let a rope hug my neck instead?
Would you have cared 
If I enjoyed poison
The same way I enjoy my drink
 – slowly and relishing every drop?

Putting my morbid thoughts aside,
I try to drift off to sleep.
Even a dreamless slumber would do.
Maybe Plath was right!
Death is an art, 
And I might have a calling.


I sit with my pen and paper,
Conscious not to spill any tears
And blot the words
That find themselves on paper
After much struggle.

Write, they said.
It would be cathartic, they said.
Then why does it feel as if
A thousand knives
Are being plunged into my heart?
It bleeds and I writhe in pain
But I do not stop
Because my pen does not
Run in blue or black ink
But in red;
The colour of blood,
My blood.

Once I am done
Emptying myself on paper,
They read what I have written
And are full of praises.
But I do not hear them
Just like how they choose not to see
That what they had merely skimmed through,
Is a part of my soul
Slowly ebbing into oblivion.
Those very words that left them in ‘raptures’
Are fragments of a dying mortal.

If a part of me dies
Every time I write,
Why do I not put my pen down?
Because every time
I do not let these words
Rip my body and make their way out,
I die a greater death
From harbouring
Too many cadavers inside.
While a part of me dies,
Another part of me comes alive;
A part I never knew existed.

They think I am intoxicated
To make such mad claims.
Yes, they are right!
My intoxication is not opium or vodka
But the paradox
Of living a little and dying a little at the same time.

Your Fight Song

You are weary of nursing
All the wounds on your back
From the incessant stabbing
And your own thoughts, sometimes
Renders you sleepless.
But do not give in, my girl
For you are made of sterner stuff
Like the ravaging seas;
Deep enough to swallow cities
And it’s petty mortals.
You are like the volcanoes;
That can burn not just flesh
But souls too.
You have the power to wreak havoc
But are wise to remain quiet.

The world will tie you down
With chains of self-doubt, insecurity
And most importantly, love.
Break them, darling!
They may tear your skin,
Break your bones
But your soul cannot be touched.
Because these creatures
Do not care to see
Beyond your swollen eyes
That has spilt many a tear
For the undeserving
And your cracked lips
That has not curved into a smile
For a long time now.
And the love these beings
So abundantly shower on you
Is a mere embellishment
To hide their decaying souls
Diseased with selfishness and vanity.
Do not be fooled, love!

You will find yourself
Locked up in a tower
And guarded by ferocious demons.
Do not wait for Prince Charming
To come to your rescue
Or the King
Who locked you up
To keep you safe not sane;
To free you.
Wield your own sword, my girl
And defeat the demons,
Not just the ones outside the tower
But those in your mind, too.

So when you are tired
But unable to sleep,
Do not listen to a lullaby
About mothers rocking their babies
To deep slumber,
For you are not a regular girl.
You are a warrior
Fighting battles for survival
That nobody knows about.
In the quiet of the night
Listen to your own heartbeat
And you will hear a song,
A fight song.
Your fight song.

Guilty Pleasure

    Your mere sight has me in raptures. You make me feel something that nobody can; something new, something exciting, something that makes my heart beat ten times faster. I look at you longingly, waiting to consume and be consumed in hungry passion. Maybe you were the muse for the thousand sonnets written by poets madly in love. Maybe you were the reason for men killing their own kind on battlefields. I am not a poet or a warrior but man; I could write a book just about your smooth, flawless brown skin and fight any formidable opponent just to keep you all for myself. My heartbeat becomes louder; so loud that even you can hear it as I come closer. I trace my fingers across your clothes that cover your sensuous, well-chiselled body. Only you posses the power to entice the strong willed and the self-disciplined without even batting an eyelid. I wonder what black magic lies beneath that innocent looking demeanour.

    You seem to enjoy my caresses against your well clothed body just as much as I enjoy my fingers covering every inch. You hesitate and hold on to your clothes as I try to undress you slowly but sweetheart, I know you well! I know how you love this kind of attention and want more. After many attempts you are finally naked in my hands, melting slowly from the rising temperature. The sound of your clothes falling to the floor felt like the harps of thousand angels playing from heaven. Words cannot describe how I am in awe of your raw beauty and vulnerability. I almost hear a moan escape my lips but honey, we have hardly started! I bring you closer to my lips and gently lick that delicious looking brown skin. I feel you quivering and shaking as my tongue touches every bit of your body but you love it too, don’t you?

    I slowly bite into your warm skin and you lose control of yourself and surrender to my whims and fancies completely. You are like the forbidden fruit from the Garden of Eden- unable to resist the temptation to devour you despite knowing that you will be the reason for my downfall. You are like the divine nectar churned by the gods- too much of you is poison but I simply do not care if your kiss kills me. Pure ecstasy envelops me as we finish satisfying each others’ hunger. I crave for your gentleness against my lips and bittersweet taste in my tongue. I long for your gentle kisses on my lips and fingertips. I want more but you are scared for me and ask me to take things slowly. It is like you have cast a spell on me as I nod my head in consent and watch you slip away into oblivion. With a heavy heart I say goodbye as I wash off the evidence of our encounter from my lips and fingers and throw away your clothes. Nobody should ever know about our secret moments of guilty pleasure. Cheating on my diet with a bar of chocolate never felt this good.

Hey there, Beautiful!

What is your notion of a beautiful woman? Take a second, close your eyes and visualise a woman that you would consider beautiful. Okay, open your eyes now. Did you see a thin, tall, fair complexioned woman with long, wavy hair in a short black dress that accentuated her curves? Or did you imagine her in a sari because you like your women with short clothes only on screens and not in real life? Whatever the image that popped into your mind, don’t you think it is unfair to women to make them conform to rigid standards? Why is it so difficult for everybody to accept the fact that women come in different complexions, shapes and sizes? This inability to accept ourselves the way we are gave rise to an entire industry: the beauty industry.

Sorry to break it to all makeup lovers but the entire cosmetics industry is a scam. Take any of your favourite cosmetic products for instance. Do you think you can survive without that product? I mean, how hard can life be without mascara or lipstick? But it seems like the end of the world to some people. The cosmetics industry changes our ‘wants’ (something you desire) into our ‘needs’ (something that is absolutely required for survival). This industry makes us feel insecure about acne, dark skin, wrinkles, etc and manipulates us cleverly into buying their products. The advertisements show ‘models’ who have a few spots of acne being dull and not confident, but once they use their fairness cream they feel ready to take on the world. Why would a few spots on my face make me feel less worthy and become obstacles to achieving my goals? If you are making ads to sell your products, at least make them believable!

The industry alone is not at blame. I never was a big fan of makeup because I believed that my looks would not matter over my education, talent or my individual self. Nobody forced me to wear makeup, directly at least. But I could hear stray voices suggesting how I would be prettier if I applied some foundation and compact powder or how my eyes would pop out if I wore some eyeliner and mascara and got my eyebrows done. I took those voices to my head and started believing that I was not perfect until I looked like the women in magazines and advertisements. To be honest, I am still having troubles accepting some of my quirks thanks to ‘stray aunts’ (no offence, I am just quoting my favourite professor!) who could not stop commenting on my hair, skin, nails and what not! After starting college, most of our mothers start showing more concern in our appearances and start providing us with homemade face packs and scrubs to make our skin ‘light’ and ‘blemish free’. That is step one in preparing us for the shark tank (read, marriage) because prospective grooms and mother-in-laws want ‘fair and lovely’ brides not smart, well-educated women who can earn for themselves.

I know how makeup serves as a security blanket for some women and if that makes you more confident, put on that gloss and mascara, girl! But there are some of us who can manage pretty well without applying layers on our face. Honestly, makeup is the last thing on our minds because we have other things to worry about. Since you are able to read my blog, I assume that you are smart and well educated. Do you think you can let people dictate how you feel when they comment on your looks? Do you think you need people to tell you that you are beautiful? Shouldn’t you know that yourself? Yes, you. You are beautiful and don’t let anybody tell you otherwise. Spread the positive vibes and call somebody beautiful today because a compliment can save a life and is there anything more beautiful than that?

What is the Obsession with Gold?

I have been trying to answer that question for almost half a decade and finally found some answers which make sense, at least to me. Am I the only girl here who is not obsessed with gold and wishes that her family would rather spend money on other investments? I absolutely do not understand why a girl’s family would rather save up and buy gold rather than giving her things that she really wants like good education, a DSLR camera or permission for a road trip to Goa with her gang. Here are some reasons that I thought that might make you rethink before you decide to adorn your daughter with gold whether she likes it or not.

‘Diamonds are a girl’s best friends’ is a popular saying. Well whoever framed that saying sadly did not have many friends. Do you think a girl or a lady would choose shiny metal and sparkling stones over her fierce tribe of friends who have got her back at all times? Let alone friends, I would not even trade my least favourite book for a gold necklace or any piece of jewellery! Bibliophiles would agree with me when I say that the best investment a person can make is in books because they are a powerhouse of knowledge and help escaping the monotony of this world. Yes, gold has monetary value but reading can take you to places that gold and diamonds and silver and platinum cannot.

    I read an article online which said that Indian home makers owned more gold than the Swiss Bank and that is not something to be very proud of. India imports a lot of gold from foreign countries due to its high domestic demand and this causes a negative trade balance, leaving our country in debt. I have seen my mom saving up money and buying gold with it despite knowing that I am not a big fan. When I ask her why, she says that it is an investment and secures my future. Well, your investment just adds on to the debt of the country so why not invest in shares, debentures or other financial instruments so that capital flows into the market and boosts economic development thereby creating jobs and increasing the standard of living of the people? Funny that I still remember twelfth grade Economics lessons!

One of the most common reasons why people buy gold is for their daughters’ wedding. Again, people like me do not prefer wearing gold or any jewellery, for that matter so why spend money on what I am not going to use? My parents look at the gold saved up for my wedding as a ‘security’ for my future because my jewellery is going to be my knight in shining armour if my marriage comes crashing down. (That is a hypothetical statement so believers of ‘traditional marriages’ and marriage counsellors can calm down!) There is a common belief among Indian parents that the amount of gold given to their daughters is directly proportional to the respect they receive at their in-laws’ place. Can we just take a moment to realise how nonsensical that is? Why would my education, job and my individual self matter lesser than the only metal that has not been used in any scientific experiment so far? Parents of daughters work really hard and sacrifice the simplest things in life just so that their can daughter can look like the brand ambassador of GRT Jewellers on her wedding day. Is it really worth it? I do not think so.

    I have nothing against buying gold and wearing them. This is just my opinion and we can all agree to disagree. I personally find wearing jewellery the most troublesome thing on earth because I simply do not like it and so do many other women. I feel like it restricts me from complete freedom (literally and figuratively). If you like gold and want to save up to buy it, nobody is stopping you from doing so. But never force anyone to wear gold or any jewellery just because ‘girls are not supposed to be seen with empty hands, neck or fingers’. All I am against is hoarding up of gold and treating it as the ultimate treasure that will possibly save lives. There are other things to life apart from this shiny, polished metal found in cold, grimy and dark mines.

The Last Words of a Goat

Bound by tight ropes,
I say good bye to all my hopes
Of making it through the night.
But I am not going down without a fight!
My time on earth,
Is drawing to a close
And there is no time for farewell or tears.

Shaken awake from my sleep
I am dragged by two strong hands,
Away from my family
And into the stands
Where my murder will unfold,
As people watch without any pity.

I scream and shout
And kick and struggle
But nobody seemed to care.
Except for a girl who stood out
From the rest of the crowd.
She could not bear
The thought of me being killed
Before her eyes.

I give one final try
And shake my head
To say no.
But the executioner did not care and
Raised his sharpened weapon.
Before it landed on my neck
And blood spattered everywhere
I saw the human
Amongst the other ‘humans’.
Fighting back her tears
And whispering a soft apology
For the crimes of her species.

These silly humans
Pray to their gods and offer my flesh
Before devouring it.
I do not know if god
Accepted my flesh in offering
Or answered the prayers
Of these flawed beings
But he certainly did not answer mine.

I was on the verge of witnessing an animal sacrifice some time back but luckily I managed to slip out of it. Though I did not see it happening, it created some disturbing images in my mind. I gave up meat four years back after seeing the final moments of a fish on the road. Coming from a family where meat is considered essential for survival, I was subjected to ridicule for being such a big softie! But there is not one day I have regretted my decision to stop eating meat. Being an animal lover, I believe that all animal lives matter and not just the lives of the ‘jallikattu kaalai’ or the tiger or the stray puppies. So if you know a person who has given up meat for the same reason as this, do not try persuading them or play the ‘plants are living beings too’ card. Instead, sit with them and hear them out because it takes a big heart to give up something someone loves just to save a few five sensed animals or birds.

Why I am a Feminist

    Most people I know are aware that I am a feminist. I have encountered questions from many of my friends, particularly girls as to why I am a feminist. This article will hopefully answer your question. Before I start, let me clarify a few things. Feminism does not equate with hating men or trying to oppress them. In fact, it does the opposite by breaking stereotypes that affect men as well. For instance, a feminist will be against the notion that men should not be sensitive or like pink. If a feminist tells you to hate men, then he or she is not one. Secondly, men can be feminists too. Yes, men like Barack Obama, Justin Trudeau, etc have called themselves feminists. Anybody who believes that men and women are equal is a feminist. It is as simple as that.

    I am a feminist because I do not think it is fair for people to make sexist jokes about women and ask me to ‘learn to take a joke’ when I retort. I am a feminist because when I try to defend myself against sexism I am asked to ‘shut up’ and ‘behave like a girl’. I am a feminist because I am judged for not conforming to unfair and unrealistic beauty standards. I am a feminist because when my friend spends money on make-up and clothes, I do not want her to be called ‘dumb and shallow’. I am a feminist because I believe that men who are sensitive or afraid of bugs or call themselves feminists do not deserve to be treated any less of a man. I am a feminist because I do not want my fellow sisters to be victims of name calling if they choose to drink or smoke or party at night.

    I am a feminist because I do not want my ability to cook, clean or raise children to matter more than my college degree or how much I earn. I am a feminist because I do not want people to assume things about me just because I am a woman. I am a feminist because I do not want to hear phrases like ‘you run like a girl’ or ‘you are a girl because you are afraid to fight’, etc. I am a feminist because most people do not consider domestic violence, dowry, gender discrimination, etc as a crime. I am a feminist because I do not want my fellow women to be paid less than their male counterparts for the same job despite having similar qualifications. I am a feminist because I do not want to be asked what I was wearing when I complain about being catcalled on the roads. I am a feminist because I do not want women to be forced into bearing children and giving up careers for their family’s sake.

    I am a feminist because I do not want little girls to hear that ‘good women’ endure suffering and do not walk out of unhappy marriages. I am a feminist because I believe that Bharathiyar was right when he told that virginity is a common virtue for both men and women. I am a feminist because if I get married, I do not want to be ‘passed on’ from my father to my husband like a piece of land or cattle. I am a feminist because if I get married, I want my husband and his family to respect my ideas and beliefs and treat me like a person. I am a feminist because I do not want to see any more people worrying about not having a male heir. I am a feminist because I do not want my female friends to be afraid of walking alone in the night. And I am a feminist because I do not want our daughters and grand daughters to fight for the same things that we fought for.

    These are just a few reasons why I am a feminist. Trust me this is just the tip of the ice-berg! I guess I have answered your question. If you agree with my reasons then congratulations, you are a feminist too. Do not be afraid to embrace something that got you the right to vote, the right to study, the right to equal property and what not. There were times where I did not want to call myself a feminist too because of what some people (who I held in high esteem) told about feminism and feminists but I realised that they were wrong. Whatever misconceptions people have about feminism needs to change and we are in need of more people who can do that. So next time if someone asks whether you are a feminist say a big yes and give them some of your own reasons.