Person: Call Me

This how English major torture people.

I’m going to make a new font called Times New Bastard

Best Friends to Friends to

Best Friends to Friends to

I went back to our old home, the dusty roads and broken gates, dying trees and new nests and the old shop light flickering. I stood by the park swing near the dry water fountain, is it strange that I can still hear mumbles and laughs in the air. I went down the road and saw the rusty red building, once called home because of all the highs and lows lived in it. I went in through the old gate…

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Labyrinth of suffering...

Labyrinth of suffering…

So, I am not some very intellectual bitch, I don’t read philosophical books nor do I indulge deeply in the ideas of life and life after death. I read fiction, well because real life can be very underwhelming and it is in fiction that I find solace. The thing is that no matter how hard I try to forget a book and it’s ending; some things stick with you. The labyrinth of suffering is the part of…

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Coffee cups and half read paper backs...

Coffee cups and half read paper backs…

Have you ever thought about how some conversations just exists in a certain time frame? Have you ever wondered how some laughs just stay in the coffee cup ? Have you ever realized that certain parts of a novel you started reading make you look back at your life?

The thing is that we often are so lost in the day to day ordeal of life that we stop enjoying the small parts of this enormous life…

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690 Kilometer.

The distance between me and my past is not very large…690 km to be precise.

Did I run all the way here or rode some cloud of power I don’t remember?

Funny I ran so hard and so fast and I still find myself under.

Every morning I find something crumble…is it my soul, my mind or just another blunder caused because of my dropping eyes and my body aching to lay in a deep slumber.

The wind…

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One day you will realize that you are not the center of the world and that...is...okay.

someone who realized this long ago.

All things ORANGE...

All things ORANGE…

Orange used to remind me of things that made my childhood fun…like the soda that coloured my tongue, the syrup on the ice but now it reminds me of the fire and pain that eats my country slowly.

The world’s burning, people are dying, animals becoming extinct, plants been uprooted like unwanted weed, and to be honest there is nothing in this world right now, that makes you feel safe. Believe me…

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To hate and not hate my Father

To hate and not hate my Father

Let’s be clear my dad and my Father are two different people, two souls in one flesh and yet so differently similar. My dad laughs at the most childish of jokes. My father hasn’t smiled at me in ages. my dad has cried in front of me and is open to care. My Father goes through days with a stoic line on his face. My Dad has names for me that show his love, overflowing. My Father calls my…

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As a girl who is just steeping in the real life....my indian parents have made me go through this fear a lot and one day even when I wont be ready in know this will come true.

Do you ever have those days when all you want to do is read angst so that you can make yourself feel things for life has been too numb for to long.