I Remember…

  • being dragged away from a snow covered road by my mother, my only memory of the place where I was born. May be I was playing in the snow, or I was jumping in it, I really don’t know, just a flash with my mother holding my hand and taking me away with her. I lived there for the first four and a half years of my life, no pictures just that one memory.
  • waiting to board a bus to my native village wearing my favourite green frock, crying afterwards because the road was blocked and I couldn’t visit my favourite place in the whole wide world.


    My heaven ( picture by me)

  • collecting empty packets of Dilbagh gutka with my friend because apparently 50 empty packets would win you a Shaktimaan costume. Yes, we were stupid but in our defence Shaktimaan was a rage back then, many people jumped off from balconies for him, we fools just collected dirty gutka packets.


    Sorry Shaktimaan!!! (Courtesy:google)

  • running through the streets of my small town wearing black pants with floral prints all over them. For some reason they were my favourite. Now that I think of it, I would have surely looked like a clown back then.


    Why oh why! (Courtesy: Giphy)

  • asking for 2-5 Rs commission for every work anyone would ask me to do- getting something from market, oiling hair, being an eyewitness to siblings fight, watering plants. By the time I was 13, I had collected 5000 Rs just from those commissions. I just realised I had way more savings back then.


    I was damn Rich… (Courtesy:tenor)

  • having a list of people I loved, with my mom and brother topping the list on alternate days and my dad being the last member on it, behind almost every member of my extended family.
  • looking at the sky in winters and waiting for snowfall, dancing on the sight of first few snowflakes, sneaking into the garden to taste snow.


    Ah…the magical days with snow! (courtesy: Giphy)

  • always supporting the underdogs- no one liked Abhishek Bachchan so I declared him to be my favourite hero, wouldn’t hear a word against him.


    He isn’t that bad! (Courtesy:twitter)

  • being scared of ghosts. Always keeping a family member outside the washroom, couldn’t imagine being left alone in case a ghost attacked.
  • Thinking that the horizon is where India ended and that other countries lie just beyond the mountains with Pakistan, China and America being the only foreign countries I knew back then. Yes, my geographical sense was at its lowest but in my defence I did live in a district that bordered two foreign countries, China and Nepal. I win!img_0331.jpg


    Oh yeah..That’s my home!!! ( Both pictures by me)

P.S. I just felt like chronicling all these memories on my blog. It would be fun to read all these childhood memories someday.


I felt stupid after writing my last post. I realized how I am always cribbing about all the things that aren’t right in my life, while completely ignoring all the things that are in fact good. So this is an attempt to write something normal and save you from the depression.

  1. I love music. I mean I have a song in my mind for every situation I encounter. “We The Kings”, though not so popular is my favorite band. I can listen to their songs forever and never get tired. I am in love with 90’s Hindi pop songs. Lucky Ali takes me into a different world altogether. He was one of the best things that happened to Hindi pop music. Euphoria, Strings, Jal, Indian Ocean, these are the bands that make me feel like I am dreaming and living in that old 90’s world again. Ah, the nostalgia. And then there are old Hindi songs and their lyrics…

“Pal pal dil ke pass tum rehti ho, jeevan meethi pyaas ye kehti ho,

Har sham aankhon par, tera aanchal lehraye,

Har raat yaadon ki baarat le aaye…

Mai saans leta hun, teri khusboo aati hai, ek mehka mehka sa paigaam lati hai,

Mere dil ki dhadkan bhi tere geet gati hai…”

 Kishore Kumar and his melodious voice, a healthy way to beat depression. Always.

  1. Though I have no clue about my own future, I am known among my friends as a great counselor. Some of them consult me for every step they are going to take in their life, be it career, love life or family. Many people have complimented me for my great listening skills, and for the fact that I understand them. Though, I have to admit that I have a pretty bad memory and most of the times I forget people, their names, their problems and even the advice I gave them.
  1. I hate it when somebody calls me “dear”. And I cringe with disgust when girls, in particular write “Love you, muah muah” in social media to each other. What’s with so much loooove!!!
  1. I can’t pout. I see my friends and even their dads posting such pretty duck face selfies on Facebook. I have taken countless selfies to get it right, but most of the times it looks like either the duck is dead, or is mentally retarded.
  1. Talking about pictures, I am very photogenic. Sometimes I look at my pictures and think, “Whoa, this is definitely not me! I don’t look like that in reality.” My pictures are highly deceptive. And yes, I am illiterate in the makeup department. The only cosmetic I know how to use is Kajal.
  1. I have always wanted a pet goat. I think goats are adorable. May be it has something to do with me being pahadi, but I grew up demanding my mom to get me a little baby goat. When I was a kid I used to bring stray dogs from roads to our house and my mama and mausi had to keep them at their place just to make me happy. I had a dog named “Bush”. I named him Bush because someone told me that George W. Bush has named his dog “India”. I have no idea how much of that story is true. I even had two pet mice in my childhood named Chintu and Mintu. Someday I am going to have this big farmland in my village full of goats, chickens, dogs, cats, rabbits and other adorable animals. And yes, my friends have suggested me to build my career as an animal care giver, because I have saved many girls from the “dangerous” cats and dogs of our campus.

Oh, this is turning into a huge post. I haven’t written 600 words with this speed ever. I should probably stop here. I am thinking to start a new memories section in my blog to write about my childhood and college life. Let me know if you think that’s a good idea.

The Kids With A Spare Tyre

Sitting in my air conditioned room,

With a smart phone in my hand,

I googled for ‘ways to be happy’,

But then right outside my window,

I saw these little kids,

Playing barefoot with a spare tyre,

Their faces gleaming with joy,

As it went round and round,

through the muddy path

I went outside and captured that moment

in my camera…

For someday,

I would like them to find happiness,

in their own past,

Instead of searching for it,

On Google, using a smart phone…

IMG_20150906_105559Written for Indispire.

The Little Girl Who Has Gone Away

I didn’t know her. She was born after I left my hometown. But I knew her dad, her uncles, her cousins and everyone else in her family. I never saw her that is until I saw her pictures all over my Facebook feed: pictures of a dead girl, raped and tortured, left to die in a jungle.Her body was in the jungle for five days and no one found her… neither humans nor animals in the jungle. And that picture is engrossed in my mind since that day.

I was in the same town when I was seven: that was seventeen years ago. Seventeen…the number of years she would have lived to be my age but she didn’t. Instead, she was brutally murdered. I have no intention of glorifying the death of a little kid. All I want to do is to get these feelings out of my mind. I don’t want to imagine the seven year old me going through everything she did.

What is it that make humans turn into monsters? How psychopaths who rape kids, people who molest girls on roads, uncles who sexually harass little kids stay amongst us yet manage to hide their intentions? How do we tolerate such things? Do we think that it could never happen to us? At least I thought so, until this time. Yes, I do get affected every time I read about a rape, I discuss it with other people, I curse the criminals, talk about the inefficiency of police in our country, and in another two- four days I forget about it, until the cycle starts again with a new case. But it isn’t the same this time. Is it because she was someone I knew? Is it because I never thought that such a thing could happen in my small, peaceful town? Was I thinking that Uttarakhand being devbhoomi ( the land of the Gods) is above these things? Well, I  guess I was wrong.

If there is something that is above everything, it is evil. Sexual crimes exist every where, whether you are roaming alone in a dark street or you are inside your house. Any person, regardless of his/her age, class, caste or nationality could be a molester, a psychopath. You need not be wearing a short dress to invite unwanted attention, even 7 year olds get raped. I can never understand what goes inside the mind of a molester, what makes them do what they do? Why is it that evil prevails over sanity? I don’t know if anyone could ever answer these questions for me but I know that time and again I’ll be forced to ask these questions. And every time I’ll hear about a new case, the pictures of this girl will cross my mind taking me to the small town where I once lived safely.

About A Broken Friendship

Dear friend,

It’s been a long time since we talked, forget whatsapping , Google chat etc., I mean to say, really talked to each other. I don’t know what came between us. I don’t know if it were you or me who was really responsible for damaging the friendship we once had. Yes, I do blame myself for it all the time, but I am really not sure what made me stay away from you. Was it the fact that you were so much more intelligent, smart, pretty and successful than me, or was it because I just felt left out? You know how we were always together right from childhood, always equals, always closer than anyone in our class. How can we forget the days when we went to school together, to birthday parties, shopping, picnics, always hand in hand? Yes, that sounds so lesbian now, but well we didn’t know that word back then. It was you who would teach me maths, physics over phone and in that tea stall near bus stop, and it was me who would always score more marks than you. And one day when I left our beloved town, you gave me that farewell party at your place, one that I can never forget.  I cried everyday because I was lonely without you, and I cried because you were alone too. I still have all those letters you sent me. And I remember how happy I would be every time I got your letter. School ended and we both joined college, you in Delhi and me in Bangalore, you in one of the best institutes in the country and me, well just somewhere.

I was always happy for you. It was like you were living the dreams I had. I listened to the things you did, the events you attended, the fun you had and I enjoyed it. There was nothing I could tell you though, I had a normal life, hostel to college, college to hostel, there was no fun, but I really didn’t mind, until the day I really saw how different we had become. That was when we met after four long years. I don’t know what happened that day. Maybe I had many expectations from that meeting, maybe I always longed for a friend like you and was really excited to see you, but I didn’t feel it. There was just nothing. That was the moment when I think our friendship took a huge blow. And things changed after that. Our lives took different directions. You got into a relationship and obviously, I hated that guy. I was always so possessive about all those people I loved, you, my brother, my other friends. Trust me; my brother’s marriage troubled me a lot. I have a hard time sharing ‘my people’ with others. I have changed now, I guess losing you and a lot many friends I had, made me less sensitive. I am hardly attached to anyone now. That is a completely different issue I am facing right now; I have turned into a selfish, insensitive bitch.


Well, I miss you. I miss you when I have to bitch about our old classmates. I miss you when I have to cry about my shitty love life, I miss you when I visit home and realise that I don’t have a single friend there. I miss you but I don’t know why, I get so weak in the knees just by the thought of meeting you. I just don’t fit in your lifestyle anymore, or that’s what I think.

I wish I could just go back in time, where we were not screwed up adults but two kids walking down the street laughing about anything and everything, where our friendship was the only thing that mattered to us.

‘Cause everything is different now,

I’d really like to tell you how,

How I wanted you here by my side,

I know what I said but I lied,

It looked like I laughed but I cried,

But I wish I could push rewind.

Your old friend…


Image from here.

Questions and Answers

There was i time when i had a hard time solving mathematical questions, even those regular division, multiplication sums whereas answering the question “What do you want in life?”, was way simpler. All i wanted were chocolates, dolls ,or maximum new clothes.

Now, though i can solve complex mathematics , I just don’t know how to answer this one question, ” What do you want in life?”

More knowledge complicates life!Ah, I miss that innocence.

Dear Fourteen Year Old Me- A Poem

Dear fourteen year old me,

That highly spirited girl, young and free,

Here’s a letter from the seven year older ‘you’,

The one you’ll eventually grow up to be whatever you do.

These seven years are going to change you into something you never wanted to be.

But we’ll talk about you today, that ‘you’ in my history.

Do you still cry while going to school?

Mamma’s little girl that you are, do you still hate mondays?

That cocoon, you made a shelter for in our terrace,

Do you still hope to find a butterfly there someday?

And that small lemon tree, that you planted,

Has it grown out well?

Does mamma still beats you for the silly mistakes you do?

Don’t worry honey, she’s gonna stop it in a year or two.

Do you watch that series on TV?

The one with your favorite love story?

I know you are crazy about it, the way I used to be.

Do you dream of having your own house painted red and white?

I won’t tell you anything about it, let it be a sweet surprise.

Do you play with snow, and dance in the rain?

If not then do it as much as you can,

Because soon enough this world is gonna tell you,

You are too old to do that.

Do you wait for that guy, you had a crush on,

To look at you and smile,

Start spending more time with him,

He’s gonna be there only for a short while.

For now just, live. Laugh at yourself and keep moving ahead.

Because as days are passing by,

You are going to get a million reasons to cry,

Make yourself strong enough to face some harsh truths,

And bold enough to lie,

This world is gonna break your heart, a countless times,

Make you taste all the flavors of life, you never wanted to try.

But don’t give up on your dreams and your life,

I assure you, you’ve definite seven years and more until you die.

Here’s me wishing you all the luck,

Till we meet again,


The Third Child

When the third child was born,

No one was joyous.

Alas!  it was a girl,

The mourning was obvious.

The third child would smile anyway, now and then

She didn’t know it, the world is a dark den.

Her smile and eyes won everyone’s love,

And it was her mom who protected her little dove.

The third child grew up to be a lovely innocent girl.

With rosy cheeks, round face touched up by a curl.

She smiled yet wasn’t happy all along.

She understood the world now, knew there was something wrong.

The mom and dad weren’t bounded by love but by obligations.

And given a chance they would run to different directions.

She saw love everywhere, books, and movies but not at home.

Slowly and slowly she created a virtual world of her own.

And living away she fell in love with a guy over phone.

He said he loved her and would never leave her alone.

The third child now smiled truly, danced with joy for the first time.

She was so lost, forgot completely that love is a crime.

Coming back to reality she ended up all her ties.

And decided again to live a life full of lies.

So, here she is today, eyes full of tears.

A war in the background,  true to her fears.

Eyes on her phone, fingers on the dial.

Yet she couldn’t call him, the only reason for her smile.

For the third child was always destined to live this way,

A life not worthwhile!