This question has haunted me for years now.
what is love ?
Everyone tells us that it is being happy in someone else's happiness, it is accepting someone as they are.
Love is imperfect, it's imbecile ,
It's sane and insane and could be counted on fingers.
No, It can't be counted though but it can be measured as in the depth of your heart.

Everyone told me how to find love,
With this advice , seek love as it is seeking you.
okay !
I agreed and did as adviced,
Seems like it is seeking me in some parallel universe.

So I stopped.

But after giving it no serious thought for past few years , Today out of a halo I learnt what love is.

Love is breath. Before you assume what's new in my argument !
Let me tell you this theory I came up today at 4.30pm.

Love means the air in your lungs which can't be expelled. It doesn't matter if you do/don't pay attention to it. It will remain there.

Few years back In biology class I learnt about the residual air that remains in the lungs and that's what I say is love.
That air is present even though you slowly inhale or quickly exhale. The momentum of your breathing has no impact on it. There is no if or but about its existence . It remains unchanged irrespective of the lungs volume . It just is.
Until one day you realise that it is at the verge of leaving your organs.
That day is the day when you truly understand that with it gone, you will stop existing.

That's my dear reader , Love is.


I am dragged to one secluded corner of the room by an unknown woman,
I don't think I know her,
She looks like my mother but is too brave to act like her.

Well, the story continues...

While she dragged me, I had a vision
In which the abuses he hurled at me in the past were visible,
The most recent one being called a bitch.
A child born of your blood is called "bitch", Well that's unfortunate I thought and stopped the train as in haste.

What do you say, my dear reader, was I right?

No, I don't mind being called one,
Should I let the opinion of one man leave an ugly impression on my mind?
Sometimes I think I should let all the abuses be absorbed,
Some day I am a little braver,
And pity him for his words.

To be frank, I find the later section more courageous, full of valour
So, I tend to hear from an ear and take it out from another.

But the woman today made me stand in a corner,
Went back into the room
Asked him if I deserved the words he spoke to me?

I apologise but it doesn't make any sense,
Why is she talking about me?
Doesn't she know I have learnt to live without being affected?
Yet I heard her
And remembered someone telling me It's alright sometimes
When someone decides to stand for you.


You are different from the soil I am made of.  
Maybe it was the reason why
we couldn't realise that 'it" was not working between us,

Even when you were trying hard,
I was trying harder,
but nothing remarkable happened .
Our "it" never turned into something
either of us could cherish forever.

Silences transformed to anxiety which soon roared within our mutual bond of secrecy.

And the day had to come
When you said you are leaving ,
I wanted to say don't leave.
Believe me this time,
I truly intended to say don't leave,
But instead I slept that night
And prayed never to wake up again,

Never to wake up again
to see you gone.

You might be thinking now if I wished you to stop then why I slept?
Because I knew if I remained awake,
you would have read my mind where subconsciously
I wanted us to try for one more time ,
For the last time even after failing for the numerous last times repeatedly,

But this time I couldn't let you do that
So, I slept and dreamt of the soil that was used to make you
And saw myself being made with the same.

As my dream ended
I woke up ,
You were gone ,
And "don't go" was stuck in my throat.


I didn't love thee but be assured, I told none.
I kept wearing the mask of your warmth in the pickling heat of July.
Summer days languid and traumatic to my senses are well hidden under the garb of honour.
"Believe me love, no one can spot the lie."

Give me an opportunity, a fair chance to show my utmost devotion,
Remember the night when the flower moon illuminated with its might and you had your gaze fixed at the sky.

I had smiled at you and the abhorring moon.
Had to fix my deed by fixing my gaze on the passing time on my old Chinese watch, gifted by your well wisher.

Did you see how quiet and fine had I covered my secret? Our secret?

I look at calender and it makes me truly smile,
The days will pass,
The age will pass,
Soon the youth will pass,
I am elated to declare, "You and your filthy thoughts also won't last."

But by then, I want you to believe,
My rage will be well hidden, it won't seep
Afterall you see all this time,
I didn't love thee yet told none.

What should I become for you?

I thought for a while and then decided what I should become for you.

It began with the thought of being your sunshine reaching to the point of being the river – submerging your queries and unnecessary worries. Should I be the rain pouring at the metal cladded balcony of your house, waiting for you to come out and admire me? Or should I be the breeze comforting your heart on late afternoons when you suddenly realise that it’s been hours since you raised your neck to look at time and you are late for your conference like always? Should I be the folded page of the current read you keep at your bedside to read at night? Or should I be the bottle of wine kept in the cabinet for special times?

What should I become that you take notice of my existence?

After a zillion thoughts I reached on a conclusion and decided to be nothing and everything to you. I would just remain me, the warm person who is made of all the essential five elements you come to at the end of the day. Nothing less, nothing more. Just me to you.


45 days back I wrote a letter to you,
In which I had mentioned, “I don’t want to be your subordinate.”
A few words out of the mighty sea of English language which I chose to shut down myself that day.

I sent you that on WhatsApp
Didn’t mail, don’t know why,
Being audacious to mention how I am tired of your patience, your unconditional support, your way of keeping the channel of communication open for me when I refuse to deliver a word.
I had to save my false esteem!

It didn’t get deliver,
No double ticks, no read recipient.
I wanted to see those marks on my screen
telling me there is no going back.

I waited for 5 minutes and 15 seconds
Nothing happened
My fingers trembled and I found ” delete for everyone”.
To tell you the truth,
I was scared and had gasped in those 5 minutes and 15 seconds

Then I looked for a quote on Pinterest
Sent you the saying or long narration, I don’t remember what,
But It got delivered within seconds,
Instantly You replied, “it was inspiring.”

I think of the day today,
What should I have written if the letter was delivered and you have paid heed to my request?
Well the mystery lingers..

Soon, I tell myself.


I am afraid.
Will I make sense if I say
The pain and anguish I feel
Towards whom should I direct it?
I am breathing yet the particles are mixed with anxiety,
Sorrow has made my heart heavier
Like soaking a piece of paper, rupturing it with each drop

As the light pierce through sky,
I am afraid to ask
Will the day be better than the day passed?

Losing a human might sound another number on the tally chart ,
When will we learn when the piece of our heart is transformed into another numeral?
Are you still going to lie there? Acting that it’s all in my head?

The air is contiguous and I am panicking because
With each second the number is rising,
With each number my prayers are failing
And with each fall, I am afraid to utter ‘Have faith, it will be over soon”.

But What will be over?
My heart sinks to think of answers and I tend to stop the channel of thoughts.


I need my own God.

I need my own God who bleed profusely ,
To my mother’s shock, my whining could be heard by neighbours around.
I saw neighbourhood aunty closing the door of her balcony when I demanded my mother about the God who bleeds profusely.
It wasn’t just a demand ,
I wanted him to realise I genuinely craved for strength when the period was unbearable and my scarlet heart diminished with each passing moment on “those days”.

When it first began ,
I was told that it was like “signing in” in the world of Womanhood.
Just like Facebook ,
Wish I had known it does comes with creeps like cramps and orthodox beliefs..

Once I heard my aunt say, “we are women , our spirit of womanhood can endure anything life throws at us”.
I wanted to ask, didn’t it hurt her spirit to sleep in an isolated hut in the farm and endure everything in seclusion?
Strange enough!

Today, my thoughts wandered off to Panchal Kumari
Who bled profusely when she was dragged to the court of men,
She was the queen, slave they called her , whore it sound to many!
But she was human, vulnerable before those who humiliated her.
I wanted to ask was she also expected to endure anything that life threw to her?
But then I remember learning that she didn’t endure and her vengeance ultimately led to the end of an entire Yuga.

Back to present
So, My voice was loud and clear
I wanted my own God!!
Eventually to calm my senses,
Mother told me about the bleeding Goddess in Assam,
The Scarlet fluid didn’t hurt anyone till now
Mighty men bow before her , no hesitation it seems to me then
Even grandfather has paid a visit to her in his youth
Yet my mind had still managed to confuse why men of families abhorred the blood , stained or not it has still managed to hurt their pride.

My thoughts wandered off yet again
I couldn’t understand what mother tried to make me believe
Was she telling me am I the goddess?
Or was it my womanhood so strong that it could end this Yuga?

I left the thought and prayed that day,
I asked the cosmos for a god of my own who knew of moon cycle and extend its blessing on those women who were expected to endure everything in the name of shared womanhood.


But sweetheart,
To heal you need to accept,
To accept that you deserve peace, space and happiness.

Acceptance will create great discomfort
Maybe , you will be tempted to deny that
there are scars which still hurts a lot.

Healing is not as easy as it spells,
but it’s worth every ounce of pain you have been through.

Step wise step
This process will cover up all the scars on your soul,
Don’t worry about the marks ,
they are the symbol of your strength ,
How beautiful and powerful you have been
through this journey of healing.

The pain of this process is
like the pain of the labour of a mother
who goes through it when she gives birth to a new body ,
Similarly once you will heal,
Like that new born child
It will be rebirth of your soul
And rejuvenation of your heart.

So, don’t be afraid
If it hurts , Maybe it’s time for you to be your own anchor, your own phoenix.