It’s raining in the city and it’s been a while

And it’s got me feeling some type way too

It’s got me thinking about these forces that are bigger, greater than anything we can make our tiny minds understand

Maybe I’m just an emotional overthinker

Or maybe the rain really is so powerful 

That it takes me back to a night over 10 years ago

When my little frame stood by the balcony as my father lit up a cigarette 

And I saw the world in a new light

I remember the contrast between the darkness that wrapped itself around us, and the bright orange end of the cigarette 

It felt like tobacco had become less lethal just for that one night, just so it could bask in the glory of its own beauty against the night sky

But the sky now didn’t like me reminiscing so it roared at me and brought me back here

Now I’m leaning against my window and watching this blanket of rain fall ruthlessly upon us 

And the wind- so strong and sure that it pursuades the rain to move horizontally in waves 

I’m watching the fabulous view of another tall building in front of me, and how the lightening is so bright that it brings about daytime at night 

I’m listening to the thunder bellow, as if it’s riding a chariot made of the lightening it’s surrounded by and fighting to control it

I’m leaning against my balcony and watching these elements create the most beautiful music by fighting the most brutal war

And as I watch I feel a wave of gratitude for my eyes, for allowing me to be able to see things that no camera can ever truly do justice to.


How I Realised Santa Isn’t Real x NaPoWriMo Day 2

As a little girl, I loved investigations
Maybe it was because of poorly made
Indian crime TV like CID
Or The Secret Seven by Enid Blyton
The idea of clues and searches
and secrets waiting to be found
Infected my imagination with an
Unimaginable vigour
At the time I was so interested by the
Science of science and everything
There was to know in the world
And that’s why, in December 2007
I decided something
Wasn’t right with Christmas

My memories are hazy and
I didn’t click pictures
But I remember my mother
Sneaking off into another
Shop that day at the mall
Earlier in the month my cousins
Who were so much cooler
Told me all about a portable DVD player
“It plays all kinds of DVDs
and is super easy to carry”
And there it was, the solution to everything
So I dropped a letter to Santa by the temple
Right under Ganesha’s foot
And asked for this lovely invention

Back at the mall, behind the trunk of the car
I heard quiet murmurs and I swear I saw
A cardboard box of just the right size
That’s when the first sliver of doubt arrived
What does Santa even look like?
Why hasn’t he ever said hi?
Does he even come by?
Who’s to say the adults haven’t been lying?
Why would my mother sneak off
At just the right time
And want to know all about my letters to Santa
Even though they were obviously my private business?
How could one man glide across the night sky
And give the good girls a doll and the good boys a toy car?
Suddenly, it all made sense
And I declared that night that Santa didn’t.

Philtrum x NaPoWriMo Day 1

It’s time for some education
Because it’s in our nature to
Turn our faces to things we never
Realised had a purpose
A reason to exist

So let me bring your attention
Back to your faces and
Ask you to attempt to see
Under your nose and over
The bow of your upper lip

But before you bring out the cusses
I understand that it’s an unreasonable
Request because we don’t
Quite have that reach

This place that I’m trying to address
Is a place we don’t normally mess with
Unless it’s to pierce it but that’s okay

This place is the bridge between
Your smell and your taste
It’s called the philtrum
And that’s really all there is to say
Thank you for joining me
To learn more about your face.

My Thoughts on La La Land (Spoilers)


It took me a minute to hop on the La La Land bandwagon, and I don’t have anything to blame for that except my shameless laziness. These new, unique movies with lots of hype around them terrify me, if I’m being completely honest. I don’t know what exactly it is that becomes so intimidating about these Oscar winners but it’s enough to keep me away from them.

When I watched La La Land, I was almost thankful that I’d waited this long to watch it, because now I can think about it alone and write this without having a lot of overwhelming opinions being thrown at me from everywhere. It’s common knowledge that everything that gets a lot of love also gets a lot of hate from the “other side” and there was plenty of that with this movie. While the impeccable cinematography and music received unanimous love from film geeks everywhere, there was also criticism about casting Ryan Gosling as the troubled genius pianist trying to save jazz, considering that jazz comes from black Americans and is a deeply rooted part of black history.

Source- Variety Magazine

But I’m not here to discuss the racial aspect of this film. I’m here to talk about how this film simultaneously ended up being one of the most satisfying and bittersweet experiences for me. Let’s start with the story.

La La Land is the story of a struggling actress and a struggling jazz musician whose dream is to open his own jazz club. The film follows these two people in a PoV format, often going over the same sequences from both their perspectives. The musical numbers drive this film and add to it in every sense. The opening sequence in the middle of LA traffic almost narrates the themes of this story, preparing you for what the film is about (Another Day of Sun), and is one of my favourite songs from the movie.

Source- Movie Motorbreath

Shot in a CinemaScope style, this film is a tribute to LA- the land of dreamers, and takes from classic Hollywood movies like Singin’ In The Rain. It was enough to inspire me to explore old Hollywood movies- something I hope to do soon. The choreography was stellar and extremely expressive; very rarely have I felt so strongly about watching song and dance. The elements of surrealism made this film for me, because the sharp surreal sequences balanced out the harshness of rejection and failure that both characters face throughout the movie.

I was quite let down by the body of the plot. It didn’t seem new and I had a constant feeling of deja vu while watching it. But I do commend Damien Chazelle for taking up such a widely explored plot point and putting it forward in such a fresh way.

The film’s climax hasn’t gotten nearly enough praise, in my opinion. I’ve never seen such a real experience be portrayed in such a dreamy, comforting way. We’ve all been in love, and we’ve all had that one love that leaves us changed and we just know- we’ll always love them. The characters in the movie go through the same thing.
But life brings them to a point of no return, and they both know they can’t repair their relationship and be the same two people who were in love. And so they go their separate ways and go on to become successful people in their respective fields. I think Chazelle knew that a mundane ending like that would be dissatisfactory, so he gave his audience an epic montage of what Mia and Sebastian’s lives would have been like if everything had worked out perfectly in their relationship. And just as you get lost in the perfect dreaminess of the what ifs, he snaps you back to earth because real life is cruel and sometimes, you don’t end up with the person who would ideally be perfect for you.

Source- google images

Filmmakers strive to make their audiences feel with their cinema. Films are made to make you one with the characters and experience what the characters feel. All a filmmaker can hope to do is to evoke true, raw emotion as a result of his creation. For me personally, very few films have been able to do that. And this film was one of them. The feeling of bittersweet longing I was left with as I saw Mia and Sebastian share a smile before going their separate ways once more is a feeling I will never forget, because this was the first time a work of fiction made me feel it in its truest form.


it took one afternoon of surfing the internet
it took one wave, one tab
to tell me that my normal isn’t normal
it isn’t even close to what normal and okay really means

my normal is thinking faster than i can talk
thinking so fast that i can’t talk
my normal is a distant land far away;
it doesn’t know the beauty of coherence

it happens sometimes

my normal is having my feet on the ground
and my head in the clouds and my vision too
my normal is a distant land far away
it doesn’t know the importance of concentration

more than a few times

my normal is


yesterday at 2:46pm i said something i shouldn’t have i shouldn’t have no no no no no no no no no no n

my normal is snapping my fingers
snapping my fingers till i snap the hell out of it
shaking my head till i can shake the thought off
my normal is

yesterday at 2:46pm i


my normal is looking at the table
trying to look for some evidence of water helping with anxiety
my normal is looking for something to bring me back to earth
there’s too much to see here i want to come back

this normal is not worrying about anything happening in real life
please believe me- everything’s fine
it’s my mind that’s tries to sabotage what i’ve earned for myself
this constant battle is what i’m worried about

this monster in my head is what we need to fight
please believe me- there’s nothing i’m trying to hide
there’s nothing more i could ask for and the only thing i want
is to find a way to euthanise him

the monster is the problem 

it’s there everyday? that’s not


The Evolution of Identity 

Once upon a time, there was a Boy. 

Bending the preconceived notions of society? No, why would you do that?

Why would you do that when you know that there’s an ardent need to confine to the lines- why would you do that?

Look at the trees, look at them. The trees, thinking to themselves as they watch their leaves fall with your tears,

What makes you obligated?

What makes you so stiff, so stiff as a stick?


Once upon a time, there was… a boy. There was a Boy.


I remember when I captured the rare light in your eyes as you tried switching things up in your closet,

Or did you arrange them the way they were meant to be?

Think about it, will you? Think about the world’s version of you- merely based on what’s between your legs and how long you’re supposed to wear your hair because of that;

The world’s version of you is meaningless.


Once upon a time, was there a Boy?

Let this conversation in your mind flourish, it’s a lovely chatter.

Let your voices unravel who you are and orchestrate the music your heart wants to beat for;

The sky is blue and green and deep with the seas of idiosyncrasies, so let it fight;

Let it fight or die or survive or collide with everything that’s been tied to your identity- wait, are you even old enough to have one yet?


Once upon a time there was a boy who loved his Ma, and he expressed it to a beat.

Once upon a time there was a boy who loved his Ma,

But her Ma couldn’t love her back.


On some days, as rare as they are now

As dandy as I am, and even though it’s seldom that I whine

I feel a violence in certain moments of quietness

Late at night or three hours before dusk

There are moments when my mind is not mine

And the line between silence and crying is far too fine

When all I do to try and find my joy has no point

And all my friends that I love with all my heart get scared before I even start

To tell them what it’s like

It’s fun to describe when I’m alright, because I’m a writer and we have all the right words in our minds

It’s fun to create paintings with black and brown and the speed of sound

I don’t even need a paintbrush, this virtual rant is enough

But with all that’s said and done

I write this tonight with my mother in my mind

And how she cried behind my back as I cried behind hers

And how she found that her hand in my hair and my music in my ears is one of the only ways to make my vision clear

How she learned to say the right things and how I closed my eyes when she couldn’t

I think of my father and how I had him paralysed because this was nothing like anything he was used to fixing in his time

My father is one of those good men who work hard and use their minds

And don’t think about what they feel and don’t talk about when they do

I think about my father and how he probably taught himself to keep his mouth to himself

Because boys don’t cry since there are better things to do in life

As I write this I think about the rest of my blood

The parts that like to look me in the eyes and the parts that haven’t since my grandmother died

And as this runs through my mind

I find I don’t have it in me to cry about it more than this because there’s more to life than cribbing about it

As this runs through my mind I find that my moments of weakness are fine because that’s the build of my fiber

Because the build of my fiber is strong and emotional and vulnerable and utterly, unabashedly human

This is a moment of sonder as I wonder about all that I have to do with my being

This is a moment when I realise what Tyler meant in his lament-

Sometimes, quiet is violent.


Am I missing

The most precious thing I’ll never see

Like the feeling of bearing new life

Or walking the tightrope of communion 

Is my apprehension barring me?

Is there anything I’m missing?
Am I missing 

The most precious thing I’ll never see

Like a dark secret, shared in the early hours of dawn

Or a small smile sent my way discreetly 

Is my reluctance barring me?

Is there anything I’m missing?
Am I missing

The most precious thing I’ve never seen

Is the apprehension or the reluctance

Building a brick wall between my skin and the breeze that surrounds me

Am I missing a better way of living?

Am I missing?

A Late Night of Fear

I don’t want to write

I know it’s my sign of weakness and that’s why I don’t want to write

But it’s one of those nights that make me afraid

Afraid of everything under the sun

Or the moon

Or the stars

And I wish I didn’t have to write from time to time, but I can’t escape my emotions and how I feel them

And right now I’m afraid of being too expressive and losing the plot

And I’m afraid of the future

I’m afraid of people dying

I’m afraid that my stinging eyes during a particularly emotional moment in a movie are abnormal 

Even though I know movies make people cry all the time

I’m afraid of saying the wrong things and not being able to correct my mistakes

I’m afraid of regret even though I know it latches on to everyone at some point in life 

I’m afraid of the world and sometimes I’m afraid for it too

I’m afraid of writing

I’m afraid I’m not being the best version of myself

I’m afraid of being normal and the whole spectrum of human emotion that comes with it

I’m afraid of being weak and insecure and not being strong enough to suck it up because life goes on

Sometimes I’m so afraid of everything

And I’m afraid I’ll have to accept all these things I’m afraid of. 


There’s a fidgeting knee hiding behind jeans scrunched up in those sweaty hands

Rocking back and forth with my fist in my mouth- it doesn’t put me to sleep

Three thoughts a day I want to escape, and three more that arrive at night

Shaking my head shakes them off most of the time

My imagination balances itself precariously between a between a boon and a curse 

Trying to keep sight of what matters most and doing justice to my path

Sometimes I wish for a few choices to choose from

I’d block out the gangsters that bang their fists on my front door

Too many unwanted ink drops on a dreamer’s dream chart

Don’t blotch that lovely chart with the stains of irrational alarm and the damndest fears, because they’re nowhere near

Try to understand that now you have a task at hand

And while the fear wrestles you down, the world will still carry on 

So bury the fear in the grave it dug and rise to set fire to it all
here’s to finding solutions to problems that don’t exist