insane as this may sound.

without a doubt

people talk about

weary things

and dreary things

commands, demands,

pre-planned, offhand

faults & flaws

and their in-laws

people's emotions

and their own notions

like walking human dictionaries

extra ordinary, mostly ordinary

                                                       

and i will be that silent freak

envying all that can speak

and the chaos in my brain drowns out

all the things I'd say aloud 

please lend a ear, instead,

to what I have not said

insane as this may sound (as you'd be so kind to mock)

you'll find more meaning in my silence, than you'd ever find in talk.

                            

                     
                                                               
       
             

A letter to No One.

Dear You,

There's still nine minutes left 'till the clock strikes twelve while I'm typing this.

A while ago, I sat down & dug out an extremely old picture of Ammi with her three kids, when she had only three kids. There were three kids smiling at me from the picture; two girls and a boy. I realized that none of them was here with me in my home; their home. I then pretended to yawn so nobody would notice.

The thing is, when I sat down with a blank sheet and a million other things to decorate a card, I couldn't think of anything to write. What do you say to a person who has practically made you what you are today? The person you take for granted every day, while she nags you to drink your milk and forces a piece of bread in your mouth when you're just about to leave for college.

Well, the paper ended up getting wet, so I went and got another one and scribbled down all I could in a mere five lines. If I start crying while I hand it to her, maybe that will explain it all.

There's two minutes left now.

I can't even think of how to explain how I cannot explain how I cannot write a complete letter to Ammi even if I took a whole year.

It's twelve.

And I will now go hide my red eyes elsewhere.

Thanks for listening.

Love,
Me. 

A letter to No One.

Dear You,

Sometimes I wonder if people realize the power of words. How it's people's words that make you smile so uncontrollably that people start to stare, how it's words that make you want to cuddle with your blanket and sleep for the rest of your life, how it's your words in an interview that your career depends upon, how it's the words of your teacher that can bore the life out of you, how it's someone words that can make or break your day, how it's words that sting so badly that you have trouble holding back tears, how it's words that make strangers, friends & friends, strangers, how it's words in a book that transport you to a world you're not sure really exists and yet still it's words that you use when you want someone to pass you the roti.

Even though sometimes I feel like nothing, I don't think I can justify that. I am blessed with the power of words. And words can change a life; words can change the world.

I was thinking how I'd love to live where all my ink pens disappear to. I never seem to find them once they hide from me.

It's funny how, when you lose something, all the bad memories of it go away. Or they don't seem very important, anyway. And it's funny because it's the bad things that made you wish it all just went away.

I met alot of people today. In my mind, the script is ready, the conversations are full of life and humour. But when I extend my hand to shake theirs , or wave at them from afar, I am never able to say what I'd like to. So I just end up smiling and they end up walking away. I wish people had conversations on pieces of paper. Maybe people would talk to me more often, that way.

Have you ever made a glass 'Tang' and left it in the freezer so you can enjoy a 'Tang' ice-lolly afterwards? The best part about doing that is forgetting you froze it in the first place and then realizing it when you open the freezer. Makes one happy.

And I was reading Sidney Sheldon's book, 'The Other Side Of Me.' He's written, 'I want people to know I've been here, I thought. I want to make a difference.' I find it wonderful that somewhere in the world, someone could be thinking the same thought as me.

Thanks for listening.

Love,

Me.

A letter to God.

Dear God,

This is for the guy standing near the traffic signal, selling sweet smelling hand garlands, in hope to feed his family. This is for the old woman eating alone on a table with no one to share. This is for the kid sleeping on the street.

This is for the school girl dragging her feet towards the school gate. This is for the boy who's pretending to yawn to hide his tears. This is for a mother weeping for her child.

This is for the girl who just joined college and doesn't feel she fits in. This is for a doctor-to-be bent over his books, poring over them with tired eyes.

This is for every person who doubts they'll become what they're destined to become. This is for the people who're in love with their pain. This is for a person who sees the world in black and white.

This is for anyone whose mistakes the world seems to feed from. This is for anyone who feels they're alone.

And this is for me because I do not understand Chemistry.

I know you're seeing me write this, God. And I know you see all these people too. And me.

I'd really like You to ease their pain, dear God. But most of all, in the next 24 hours, please give them strength to smile. Even if it's just a single smile.

When I'm sad, I like to lay down and close my eyes and imagine all the beautiful people smiling at that very moment - somewhere out there in the world. I'm writing you to you this letter so that just in case you listen (and I hope with all my heart that you will), someone, somewhere in the world smiles because of me. Or my letter, anyway.

I love you lots. I am grateful.

Eternal love,

Me.

P.S. I'm serious about Chemistry. I don't get it. I was thinking, maybe, a sudden surge of intellectual brilliance in class?

on brooklyn bridge

God's piece of art that they blackened out

see her smile and trace her doubt

on the verge of the end, of the end of the verge

do you see her thoughts wander the brooklyn bridge

if she drove those miles and stood on the edge

i pledge

to stand, if God wills, at the end of the verge

to hold her hand on the brooklyn bridge

and to tell her once and once and for all

to leave to God, every fall

and beauty's place is not the end of the verge

her angels should come but not on brooklyn bridge

To feel better.

You will need:

a friend that will spend a while

giggling giggles, smiling smiles

with you

You will need:

Two feet (or one) to take you to a walk

no words, no talk;

colours of the morning & you.

You will need:

A heart to love

the one above

that'll make it right for you.

A letter to No One.

Dear You,

I'd tell you all about the beauty of the people in my life but words are too ordinary for that. 

I've been missing alot of things lately. Like the time I wore a red gown for the first time and I couldn't figure out how to tie it so that it stayed in place. Or the sleepy sound of the music teacher trying to get us to sing those high notes and us collectively failing at it so the whole room vibrated with a dozen of off key voices. And the occasional screech of the chalk across the board and the whole class hissing with annoyance. Or the times when the tubelights went off and the fans suddenly suddenly stopped (thanks to KESC) and how everyone let out a loud, "Aww!" - knowingly irritating the teacher. Or staying back on Fridays and jotting down minutes of the meeting. And most of all, standing alone on the second floor corridor every Thursday morning, in full view of the grounds I spent most of my childhood in.  

Fate is strange. Just when you're sure of grabbing hold of an opportunity, it quietly slips away like a stranger. But who am I to question the work of my God. 

Now, I'm a girl in a white uniform, not grey; with a dupatta, not a 'V'. I try not to get my hopes up most of the times and when you're expecting the worst, the reality is always much better. So on Friday, in I.T. class, I laughed with a bunch of people I think I can now call friends. I think that's pretty amazing.

I don't think perfection exists. In all that is related to being human, atleast. So there's a piece of a puzzle that does not fit. We try and we try and we go looking for it but nothing fits. I hope I find the piece soon.

And I wish I could take up being a best friend as a full time job.

Thanks for listening,

Me.

I'd hear those tales of broken faith

Of hating to love, and loving to hate 

And all through life I heard melodies

Songs of ache and symphonies

And the singers' voices caught my ears,

Here or there or there or here 

But how different it is to stand aside, to watch this insane show

Lest you sing those songs yourself, you won't ever know

A letter to No One.

Dear You,

People are confusing. If I wasn't a person, I'd really never want to be one. 

And if I was the wind, I'd whistle all night long, whispering secrets that you couldn't quite hear. And no one could object or intefere in all my secrecy.

Love,

Me.