It’s amazing how some incidents are etched in my memory through the simplest objects. Like an old radio, bringing back the memories of a 4 pm music show I’d listen to – out of my wish – after coming back from school. Or a wooden chair, reminding me of dadi while she’d sip tea around 4 pm on the porch. Or the parijaat flowers, that take me to the time dadi would pick and keep them on the shelf of our temple that’s full of grandeur. Or the shelf of the temple that, funnily enough, urges me to think of a birdhouse we used to keep there, back in the childhood.

I look at this window every now and then
As it reflects different stories on this rectangular canvas.
Seasons change, so do the colour of skies
What does not change are the curtains on the two sides
As lifeless as they could be, through days
The only time they’re lively is
when they flutter with a sudden gust of wind
As if dancing out of joy, after ages of waiting.
But the wind doesn’t come often.
And when it does, the windows shut
To avert the mess inside.
And everything is still, again.
It is like,
I’m the curtain and you’re the wind
And the window is my heart, trying to forget you.

What’s the best thing
about waking up in the morning?
Is it the sunlit sky
Dripping of the tangerine hue
The scent of coffee, as it brews
Tangled hair that play with cold breeze
The pillow, that smells of your shampoo,
Or is it a respite from long, gloomy nights
Charred lungs, unsettled soul and sunken eyes
A pause button in your dark episode
Or a harbinger of new hope,
Hope, that today would be better
That today would be new,
As fresh as the morning dew
Indeed, the best thing about mornings
Is that you can wake up sober
And knowing, that you can start over.

Glistening eyes and fragile hands
She was chirpy like a little bird
Giggles echoed around
Across the street, as she swirled

Until darkness clouded her eyes
And hunters found their prey
In a blink of an eye
Was her home snatched away

Woke up to another world
In a small cage, the little bird
Stranger eyes and deafening noise
Fluorescent walls and red lights

Sing to them day and night
For that’s what they do
If they don’t want to die.
Sing to them, forget how to fly
There’s no key to this cage
You will never see the blue sky.

There is a woman I know who worked before her marriage. She left her job after marriage but wanted to work again. She tried to convince her new family that consisted of her husband and three other in-laws. The mother-in-law insisted that she can recommence job but she’d still be responsible for cooking for the family of five. They were not ready to have a professional cook. The woman joined a company and worked morning to evening. She’d cook before coming to the office and would repeat the same after going back home.

बेरंग सी दिखने लगी सारी सड़कें
जब आंखों से तुम ओझल हुए
मन में कितने ख्याल थे मेरे
जो आसुओं की बारिश में धुल गए
यूं तो सर्दी की शाम थी तब
चाय की चुस्की के बहाने ही रुक जाते
या डर था कि पूछ लूंगी मैं वो सवाल
जिससे तुम हमेशा हो कतराते –
क्या जाना ज़रूरी है?

If you want to hold me
but I want to fly
If I refuse to bow down
after our little bloody fight
If it’s not my tears this time,
But words, which rain
Tell me darling,
would you still love me the same?

After drizzles in monsoon
on some dusky evenings
I’d take you for a walk
For a glimpse of rainbow
And other beautiful dreams.

Before I raise a point, I want to ask you, who finalizes a major decision at your home? Is it your father, husband or brother? Why – Because they are elder, have more experience or simply because that’s the norm?

I almost never thought about this before, but a look-back shows me how normal it is to accept a male figure’s decision as something set in stone. Of course there have been times when my mother was against a step, but a nod from my father changed her decision. There have also been times when my mother convinced my father for something. But I want to ask – why are women given convincing power and not the power to make the final decision or to refute a statement?

Don’t look back,
They say,
It’s a tree burning in forest fires,
An unfathomable ocean,
A ramshackled bridge
You’re standing on
That’s breaking loose from one end

Don’t look back,
It’s the past
Irreversible,
Like a flower that’s already bloomed
And as pointless as
A life jacket in a torched room

They say,
Forget about it
It’s like a bad habit
But,

Can a moth unlearn
Drawing towards the flame?
Can sunflowers shy away
From the sun?
Some things are deep rooted
They come without a skip button