A Dilettante :: Writer

I may not be there yet, but the journey has begun!

Today’s thy day!


A woman; how do I define her?

By the many relationships that she plays?
A cliche, ain’t it?
Written and rewritten a thousand times
If I could have a word,
She is not to be defined by those self-constrained roles!

How about the glorified plethora of virtues?
She is deemed and doomed to possess
Selflessness, did they say?
Or sacrifice?
Oh, there are many more
And some more
Blacks and whites
I wish the world spoke of grays!

Did you just mention her weaknesses?
Her vulnerabilities and her helplessness
Her fears and her anger
Her doubts and her insecurities
Do you let them define her?
No, my dear!
She is worth a thousand suns
Pardon her little flaws!

Judge her, call her names
She shall not be defined by your standards of normality
Label her, let her down
She shall rise from the flames and sing a Phoenix song
Tame her or blame her
A matter of time, she shall prove you wrong

A woman; I cannot define
For she defines herself
Roles or virtues
Vices or flaws
None define her!
For she defines herself
Her choices are her’s; none but her’s
Her passions and obsessions
Her love and hate
Her flaws and strengths
She chooses to define what defines her!

A day to celebrate her
Ask if I may, does she need one?
Maybe. Maybe not.
Nonetheless I wish,
Happy Women’s Day!!


Destiny re-Defined!

Destiny, I have been named
Fate, my alter
When the world sleeps,
I take my course
Or so they say

Me, you define
By the lines across your palm
Or the stars that rule your charts
Maybe, by the numbers that you hold
The colors that you wear
Or the alphabets in your name

Me, you search
Among the gems in your hand
Or the prayers in your heart
And at the end of it all
You label me hard
For life isn’t fair
And I had my way

Pardon my distaste,
A paradise, you build
A fool’s one at that
If you leave it to me

Find me in the chances you take
And the choices you make
The stars and the galaxies, my dear
Have no role to play

Destiny I am,
Meant to be or not
I dont find my way
Hunt me with deeds that stand apart
And sow the seeds of a future divine
Failures shall come by
Success will follow

As the revered Jung says,
“You are not what happened to you
You are what you choose to become”

Destiny, you define
In the choices that you make!

Cynically Creative!

Excellence, proclaimed a voice
You are no genius; the judgement sealed
Your words, plain
Your lines, crooked
Your colors, lacklustre
Your story, average
For talent, you lack!
The harshness of those words;
Drowned all that was left of a little soul

Her tiny world had limited means
Crashing it came yet again
I am no good,
A drop of tear touched her beloved diary
Screamed she, albeit in silence
I feel the weight of thy burdens
And I shall take no more,
A decision she made
An artist’s soul
Succumbed to its injuries

The little child took to her books
Literary and otherwise
Literary she adored
Confessed it was, to none
Her pursuit was dead
In the graveyard of her dreams

Years later,
She found an accomplice
An accomplice to revive
The dead pieces of her soul
United she felt in a pursuit she had assumed dead
Confidence didn’t come easy
The ghosts of the past came to haunt
The child in her looked for acceptance
Flow it did, and how!

Thus started a journey;
A journey marked for none but her
Judgements and labels
Bothered her not
Alive she felt in the company of her words
Words make; and words break
And she stands testimony to that
For she labels herself,
Cynically Creative!!

Borders Or Bridges?

Borders Or Bridges

A lingering question
That oft haunts my psyche
Borders, says the dictatorial voice in my mind
Bridges, echoes the melancholic strings of my heart

Burn the bridges
Build the borders
The wounds in your heart
And the scars on your soul
Aren’t they lesson enough for you?
That heap in your heart has reached its brim
One more drop and you shall not be you
Do you have it in you,
To lose what is left of you?

My mind, the master orator;
I ask of thee, isn’t there something that we call hope?

Yes, my dear; there is this magic they call hope, says he
But do you have it in you to be the subject of it?
Do you not deserve your time to heal,
Before you bring in bruises afresh?
Harsh I may sound, but the truth is so
Burn the bridges
Build the borders
I wish you good; you need not take more
Go find yourself
Before you build bridges anew

The wounds are on me
The scars are on me
Who are you to make this call?
Complained my heart in bitter reproach
Burn the bridges?
The bridges that I hold so dear
What will be left of me with those bridges burnt?
Without those bridges, a lifeless soul I shall be
Is that what you ask of me, dear mind?

Naive, you were
And naive you shall be
The borders were built eons ago
You didn’t consent
Now, what use could you put your bridges to?
I make no call;
Its your choice to make
Bruises if you choose;
I shall not deny you
In case you do not know,
I hate to see you in such pain
Yet; I shall stand by every choice you make

A war of words
And a beautiful one at that!
Burn the bridges or build some new?
Clear the borders or build some new?
The bitter-sweet battle
Of my heart and my mind
Will continue to be!

How much I wish some choices came easy!

Almost Always!

Almost always they say; Almost always
Me, the lesser known sibling to always
Isn’t that how I have been best known
Almost always?

Me, the symbol of all things missed
Missed by a whisker
Almost always!

The gold that missed its spot
And labelled itself silver
A moment that lost its charm
Before you could call it a memory
The seed that died a mournful death
Before you could wish for a tree
A relationship that ceased to be
Before it were called marriage
An idea that killed itself
Before you could name it a venture
A lamp that blew itself off
Before it could wade away the dark
An emotion that choked itself
Before you could lend it to the world
A dream that you woke up to
Before you could give it life
Thats me, Almost

My identity : a shadow
My glory : a missed step
My destination : just about there
All so near; yet so far
Almost always
Almost always

Almost; till it becomes always
And I cease to be
Except in tales of failures
That metamorphosed to successes
Is it for me to find glory in those epics of accomplishment?
I wonder; often!

The voice in my head!

Dear Voice In My Head,

I am exhausted talking to you. So I thought, why not try something different? Not that you would listen to me. But a letter might help. Help me vent out my suppressed emotions.

My forever companion, you never stop buzzing. Does it hurt you when I am happy? Worse still, does my pain bring you happiness? Why do you roar with your croaky ugly voice to fill me up with grief when pain strikes me hot? How do you manage to bring up stories that would put any writer to shame? Do you ever look at the better side of the story? Will you ever rest your ever burning nerves? Day or night, awake or asleep, I have no respite. No respite from your annoying noise.

You know something, I say pain is a constant companion in my life. Maybe I was wrong. You are a constant companion. And you source that pain. Hurts? Hurts me too. Every time. Every time you spin your wheels of venom. Twisting every inch of my soul. Infusing poison into every cell of mine. Sadistic pleasure, isn’t that your motive?

The past. The present. The future. You control them. You, the thought in my head. Bygones are never bygones. The present is never perfect. And the future shall never be. For you wouldn’t let it be.

You, my voice hurt me. And me. I hurt the rest. The ones that I love the most. The ones who love me the most. And then I say, pain is a constant. Now I know, you are a constant. And you are the pain. When will you let go; will you ever? Two decades of existence; yet you hang on. You, the ever powerful voice in my head. I have to let you go. I will. One day. Soon enough.

Yours now,
A hopeful victim

Topic courtesy: Terribly Tiny Tales

Caffe Pascucci!

Coffee. Each time she took that sip of cappuccino in that uptown cafe, she remembered someone. Of the beautiful memories of the years gone by. So much had changed in the past two years. What was once home now felt like a distant dream. Or did it? They both now led busy lives oblivious to the times gone by. But those times could always paint beautiful pictures of happiness when they flashed through her mind. 

“Caffe Pascucci. This Saturday.” It was one of those tiring weeks at the office. As if work had danced its way into their lives and refused to let go. Stressful timelines and seemingly impossible deadlines had taken a toll on them. Coffee could work wonders. And drive those blues away.

Coffee and some girl talk. That was all that was needed. Friends at office. Friends outside office. A bond was forged in the years that were spent together as a duo. From a lead to a mentor to a dear friend; the transition was effortless. Two people who chose their friends with utmost discretion. It was unusual in some ways that they found the company rewarding in no time. The familiarity was inexplicable. She became the family to bank upon in an alien city. A soul sister perhaps. That title later went to someone else. But she could never forgo it. Just that it was left unsaid.

Today, in that chic cafe; she remembers those times. Of the days gone by. Of those times of silent strengths and noisy turbulences. Of those times of  friendly nonchalance and unwarranted differences. As if those times had a role of their own in the many phases of her life. Some memories hold a piece of your soul. These were among those. 

“Capuccino and onion rings; your order ma’am”, said the attendant at the cafe. Memories flashed by from back in time. They gave her company with that lone book in her hand. The cafe didn’t feel lonely any more. The warmth of those memories were enough to remind her of home. 

People come and go. That is what they say. Yeah they do. But some stay. Stay till eternity.

I may not have told you; but the little things that you do are valued a lot. I may not be good at expressions; I may not make it obvious every time that those times are missed; for I do not know how. This is what I do best and hence this memoir on your birthday. As for my birthday wish; Well, let us meet at one of those Cafe Pascuccis soon enough. Real soon 🙂

A Very Very Happy Birthday To You Dipti. 

A lamp of love!

A new moon night had dawned;
And darkness descended in mystical grandiose
What a sight, I gasped; an alluring one to my misty eyes!
A night that paid tribute to the dwindling cores of light
A night that celebrated the celestial stars that smiled bright!

I walked through the stranded streets of lonely bliss
In search of the hidden light of love
To the stars that gave me company with their sparkling specks of hope, I asked
What hope do you behold,
In this labyrinth of hopelessness?
With nonchalant grace, a lone star beamed
This too shall pass, proclaimed the star

I walked for hours
Hours in the dark allays of depressed being
Holding on to a hope not too deep
Dawn seemed a dream in this endless journey of the night
The ghosts of the past played on my mind
Piercing the painful chords of the brittle heart
A fear of the future settled therein;
When I saw a glimmer of light afar

A glimmer of light in this murky gloom?
Astonished and dazed, I trotted ahead
I told you so, said the star; the pride in his voice evident
This had to pass; the lamp awaits
The lamp of love to drive your darkness away

The lamp of love, I scorned at him
I wish you knew better
The lamp will burn and die its death
Darkness will descend soon enough
Not if it burns in you, argued the star
Such is the power of self love!


In the pathway to self love..


Hiraeth. A Welsh word. One of the many words that I chanced upon recently. This one is special though. For I relate to that feeling; I experience those pangs of homesickness at times, if not always. A homesickness for a home you cannot return to; a home which never was; the yearning and grief for the lost places of your past. A weird yet fanciful thought. 


Homesick for a home you can never return to. Old memories. Memories of places you had to leave behind, never to look back. Memories of people who had to be left behind, never to return to. Memories of moments immersed in joy, only to be snatched away later. The irony of having to leave behind the very things that once meant the world to you; that once meant home. And yet the yearning stays. The grief persists. If only we could go back to those moments and live them yet another time and hold on to them forever. If only fate would have it. The cravings of the heart is what it shall cease to be. Thats hiraeth.

A feeling of stuck in the past, some would say. I would like to believe, no. Some memories are precious beyond what words can describe. If there be nostalgia around them, so be it. There is no looking back. There is no going back. Nonetheless, those memories are special even now when they have been outlived and can never be returned to. Thats hiraeth.

Hiraeth. I uncovered a new word today!


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