Blue Seas

I dream of many things. I remember the pale, yellow sun, washing my face. I dream that I can see the sun again, perched up in the sky. I dream of the blue, transparent waters of the sea. The white sand slipping from under my feet with every fresh, frothy wave. I dream of the cold wind hitting my red, frostbitten nose. I dream of the feeling of my boots trudging on the fresh, flaky snow before it turns to ice. I dream of crowded concert halls. I dream of icy aisles in supermarkets. I dream of coffee and its painfully bitter taste on my tongue. Milk, no sugar. Left out on the kitchen table long enough to become room temperature. I dream of stained glass windows in churches. I dream of diving into a pool on a hot, summer day. I dream of bonfires and marshmallows. I dream of sitting outside, with chocolate fondue, the sea breeze whipping my hair. I dream of doing something worthwhile, accomplishing something, saving the world. I dream.  Because that is all I can do. ...

The deepest, darkest Levels of the sea get no Sunlight. Monsters live.

Don’t fall in love with me. I drink tea without sugar. And I marathon Jurassic Park when I’m feeling down. I make jokes exclusively in bad puns. I count the hours every day till the sun sets. Don’t fall in love with me. I talk to strangers in banks and at airports. I can’t have blended whisky anymore. I let my dog sit on my lap and occasionally kick me off the bed. And I always lose at Monopoly. Don’t fall in love with me. I leave plastic wine glasses with lipstick marks on the dresser. I wear jeans and t-shirts and boots every day. I am a little intimidated by beautiful girls. And I drink coffee with two espresso shots in them. Don’t fall in love with me. I will say exactly what I think of you without pausing to think If it will cause you hurt I’m too short and I will have to stand on tiptoe around you And you will always have to hold my umbrella in the rain. Don’t fall in love with me. I’m too tired in the mornings. I gent...

I, I was the broken pieces of coloured glass, and, You, you were the kaleidoscope that moved me.

Sunset in Jaipur. At long last I realise, Why it's called 'Pink City'.

Lit up by the light of many a sun. Chased by the meteors. Illuminated by the constellations that scar the inky, black sky. Shadowed by the eclipses. Emboldened by the fire of icy comets. My heart is a crevice of the Milky Way. And I am as fleeting as the stardust that makes up your dreams.

I knew I was going to die, Long before I did. I could feel it in my bones. I could feel it in the dark, bottomless pit of pain That I could no longer give a name. I knew I was going to die, Long before the bullet left your gun. Before it missed my heart, as it has always been your intention, And shattered my collarbone instead. Before the wisp of smoke momentarily clouded your face. Before the burn and residue from the .38 caliber GSW singed my skin. I knew I was going to die, Before I crumpled to the ground, ageless and graceless,  Like my life before me had been. Before the adrenalin and shock prevented the pain to settle in. Before the dark blood surged out and pooled around my neck. I knew I was going to die, Because I had never really been alive. And when you finally pulled that trigger, I briefly saw my life flash before my eyes. None of it mattered, until this very moment now, The moment I had been born for. 

It was raining outside and I was sitting in the car, Watching the droplets roll down the window, Their shadows leaving asymmetric lines on my arms. I engraved your name on my wrist, So I would not feel compelled to slice them open. But I want to cut through them anyway and disfigure myself, Because what is a battered body in front of a broken soul. I am in the shower and I hiss as the hot water rolls off my back. The thunderstorm has given way to a peaceful drizzle. The soap runs off in rivulets down my arms and I look up, The steam from the bath envelops me and I refuse to feel the pain. I welcome it. The pain settles in my shoulders and seeps into my very bones. I have a hot cup of tea to keep me company, A poor substitute for the warmth and comfort you once exuded in my life. I am tired of being a sinner in your eyes and mine. I wish for the rain to stop and the clouds to clear, And someone to tell me, you are forgiven .

He stood by the edge of the sea, Where the waves tickled his feet, And the little crabs scurried sideways. He reached his arms out towards the horizon, But she was too far gone, too far gone. He stood in the middle of his garden, The grass, a lush, green carpet below him. The hummingbirds whizzed past him. He turned to look at the lights in his house, And she was too far gone, too far gone. He sits with his friends in the cafe they frequent. He stirs the viscous liquid in his cup. He laughs at their jokes,  And he doesn't have a care in the world. Little does he know that she's too far gone, too far gone.

The thing about friends is they are the most malleable creatures I know. They come in many shapes, sizes and colours and they fit into any role you need them to. They fill the holes of affection we expect our parents will fulfil.  They sit next to you in movie theatres when your significant other is miles away.  They will never let you be alone on Valentine's Day.  They fight with you like the sibling you never had or the one you lost.  They are your friend, father and confidante.  They are your shrink, and they don't draw the line there. They come to you with problems of their own and suddenly you're a parent to an agonising adolescent.  The pet you, stroke your hair, eat your food, sleep on your bed, listen to your music.  They fit into your life seamlessly and the best part about that is that you are the one that put them there.  They let you give them hell and they give it right back to you. They love you till their cup ru...

I am a light sleeper. Always have been. The slightest noise wakes me up. It was no different tonight. I became aware of her stirring in her sleep. She was lying facing away from me. She twitched. Here eyeballs moved once, twice, thrice underneath her closed eyelids. Then, without warning, her arms flailed. She whimpered, and then began to sob. Hot, fresh tears coated her cheeks. I half sat up, shaking her shoulder. "Wake up. Wake up, baby, you're having another one." Her eyes flew open. She was still crying, her sobs getting caught in her throat. "What happened baby? What was this one about?" I ask softly. She shakes her head, trembling. Her voice comes out in small sobs and gasps, "I can't...I can't..." "Shh, it's gonna be okay. I got you. I'm right here." I encase her in my arms, running a free hand through her hair and then down her back. "Do you want some water?" I ask. She shakes her head in the...

Because I miss uni, so I dug up one of my older works from my laptop. ...................................................................................................................... It’s funny how once you mention it, you realise that it’s true. And that you can’t help but keep noticing it everyday. The business students always seem to have time for make-up. And hairdos. And nice shoes, either heels or loafers or the expensive strappy ones you can buy online. And they come in off- shoulder sun-dresses. The accountancy and law students are like each other. Too engrossed with the reality of their world to notice the fiction of everything else. But in their profession, power is everything and so powerfully their women must dress. Their attire suggests less college student and more working girl on the brink of becoming a woman. The IS students are a tell-tale breed by themselves. The shorts, the slippers, the plaid shirts, the hair aggressively tied in a bun or...

For Astha The thunder rolls As your words do, off my back. The rain lashes the windows Like the whip and I flinch In reflex. And I should sleep But I keep thinking of you, And how scared you used to be Of thunderstorms. I get goosebumps thinking of all the times I had to calm you When the thunder rolled, And the lightning flashed, And the rain lashed against the windows. And now it doesn't make a difference to me, Not a difference in the world. Because you are gone. And all that's left is the silence of thunderstorms.

Pretty much ever since I was born, I've heard the words, "Oh, you look just like your father!" coming out everyone's mouths - strangers, family, relatives, friends. It makes me happy, to hear those words. I look like my father. I can see the similarities for myself. The long nose, the thin, overarching eyebrows, the way our cheekbones draw in and the sides of our eyes crinkle when we smile. The similarities are not skin deep. I've noticed our matching, even tempers, our preference for inane humour, our passion for economics and football, among other things. People keep pointing out how very similar we are. But there's so much more to me than just that. Parts of me and sides of me that I discover as I grow older. Those parts and those sides that my reflect my mother. I've watched her since I was born, and from her, I've imbibed my thirst for knowledge, my pursuit of perfection, my need to complete a task to my satisfaction once I've start...

For Astha I felt the sadness seeping out of my bones, Pouring out of my mouth with word after word That came crashing like waves. Small blue waves we saw bobbing in the ocean When the green flag was waving, And it was safe for us to swim. So we swam along the reef, holding hands, Because we were large compared to the fishes. But so very small compared to the sea.

"Sleeping?" I felt a finger poke me in the ribs through my thin blanket. I huffed in reply. "How long have you been sleeping?" "I didn't get any sleep last night." I protested in a muffled voice, from under the covers. A soft thump told me that my dog, Ben, had joined my father's side to wake me up from my afternoon nap. "Why?" Dad prodded. "I was scared, after watching that...horror...film." I said, refusing to take my head out from under the blanket. Dad clucked in response, probably in derision, to voice his disappointment at his twenty two year old's reaction to a B-grade exorcism. "Oh, by the way, after I climbed into your's and Mom's bed last night, you asked me, forty minutes later, mind you, 'Is it you, mamma ?' Honestly Dad, who else would it have been?" Ben was now standing on the bed, his front paws, on my Dad's chest, leaning over and trying to lick my face. I burr...

"Yes." "Yes." "Uh-huh." "Uh, no. I checked the accounts last night. I transferred it a week ago. It should have reached by now." "Yes, he's fine. I spoke with him yesterday. No, don't call him today, he has an exam. I'll tell him you'll call him tomorrow after you reach Hong Kong." "I have to leave in five minutes if I want to make it to the meeting on time." "I'm fine, dad. Are you? Did you bother to get a check-up done before you left?" "Hmm, I thought as much." "Dad, I said, Luke is fine. No, I've transferred his rent for this month. Yes, and the tuition fees." "Not bloody likely." "Fine, I won't swear." "Sorry." "I don't know, Dad! I can't tell you three months in advance if I'm going to get a leave for..." "Yeah well, when I...you know what? Never mind. I'm ...

One chilly winter evening, we had an unexpected visitor drop by at our house. My grandfather had just gotten up from his nap and was pulling the curtains that covered the glass doors that led to his balcony. My brother and I were loitering around the house since it was too dark to go out and play and my mother had just set the kettle to boil for tea. Our dog Ben was waiting patiently for my grandfather to open the doors of the balcony so that he could sit outside and survey the scenery and occasionally growl at the children and street dogs that passed by below. All of a sudden, I saw Ben become tense. His hackles raised, a soft, predatory growl at the back of his throat; he began to paw furiously at the glass door.  "What is it, Ben?" I asked curiously. Ben let out a thin, reedy whine and continued to paw, his long nails hitting the marbonite floor as he bumped his nose against the glass. The unfamiliar cheep-cheep of a small bird greeted us from the other side....

The days are long and the nights are long. The hours are too short to cram in the inhuman number of chapters per subject, much less for revision. My usual, narcissistic, self-centred ways magnify manifold. My room mates more than put up with it. I find my hair tied, knotted, plaited. A cup of coffee (my third for the day) left next to my notes. Cereal for breakfast, with freshly cut strawberries waiting at the dining table. What did I do to deserve such altruistic souls in my life? Friends who will walk with you to the grocery store in the middle of the night. Buying crackers so you won't go hungry during the marathon late-night study sessions, then forgetting to eat them anyway. Hop on a bus. Go to their house. Take over their study desk for the rest of the day. Stay for dinner. Dark circles that are indistinguishable from eyeliner. Cola-flavoured lollipops while I work on editing the magazine, because of course, that has to coincide with the midterms. Buying...