The thing about promises is that you can
Make them, break them, hold them and steal them
They can be pulled in any and every direction
And yet
The promise of a promise
Is the sweetest hope
And on some days
A promise of tomorrow
Is what keeps us going
Putting pen to paper is sometimes as easy as breathing, and sometimes an insurmountable task. Days when the ink flows automatically and thoughts lend themselves to being told are the most peaceful ones in my experience. On the other hand, there are also days when every thought spirals, every sorrow snowballs, every tear demands to be shed and the pen, oh the pen just refuses to cooperate! On such days, I believe, it’s better to put poetry aside and create art instead. Why? Because the thing about art is that it’s never ugly or beautiful. It exists and that’s all there is to it.
Let me voice an unpopular opinion today. Believe it, if you will. Love doesn’t happen to you nor do you fall in it. No. Love is something that you find when you go looking – for it, for yourself, for a reason, or for simply a way to live. Love is something that you learn and lean into. Learn the person before you, unravel their layers, recognise every nuance, accept the idiosyncrasies. Lean into the feeling of having your heart flutter and calm down simultaneously once it’s accepted someone as its own. You love, willingly and consciously, with everything. Because, you don’t love because, you love despite. Despite everything that could go wrong, despite all the odds stacked against, despite the fleeting moment that is this life on earth. Because love is what your soul is made of. And it will always find its way.
In an era of remixes and jazzing it up, of all bang and no buck, of noise and frills, of pompousness and show, there’s some amount of courage that goes into being able to cherish the simple things. Unequivocally and unapologetically. How thrilling it must be to be able to embrace what you like. How cathartic, truly, is knowing what makes your heart sing. How freeing, to not bowing before pressure. How lovely and how fine. How human and how alive.
April for me is a month of uncertainty. The weather’s oscillation between hot and cold keeps me up more than half the night. The sun is warm and the breeze is pleasant. The days are equal parts energising and draining. But when I step out and notice how blue the blue of the skies is, how green the green of the leaves is and how brightly coloured is all of nature, I realise the true splendour of April. It blooms and nurtures. It revitalises and nourishes. April is Mama Earth’s way of readying us for a beautiful year ahead.
Right here
Right now
There’s a question in your eyes
And an answer on my lips
On the verge of being uttered out
Right here
Right now
There’s a silent cry in your mind
And some hope in my heart
At the very brink of flickering out
Right here
Right now
There’s you
And there’s me
As raw as we’d ever be
You’ve said your vows
And I am pretty wowed
But is this really for all eternity?
You remind me of an old pair of jeans
Slightly worn
Very much faded
Snugly fitting through the various sizes I’ve been over the years
Comfortable, familiar, a go-to when I couldn’t care less
A top or a tee
With flats or heels
Flexible through all my choices
A constant echo through all my voices
You remind me of a pair of old jeans
My favourite pair
For non-English speakers, the word “Purani” in the title means “old” in Hindi. There’s a popular song in India which never fails to fill us all with nostalgia and yearning for the simpler days of our childhood. Of friends made and hearts broken. Of memories and happiness. Do give it a listen on the link below, if you like.
I picked up a paintbrush after what seems like ages, a couple of days ago. It was an unexpected holiday, frankly because I’d forgotten all about it. It was also an extremely lazy day. After sleeping away half of it, i plonked myself down on the couch and put pencil to paper. Now, if you know me a little bit, sketching has never been a problem for me. Painting, however, is an altogether different ball game. I always mess up decent sketches when trying to paint them. This time was no different. It was a mess. But it was my mess. I’d created it from scratch. And I know precisely where I went wrong and at what point things quickly became unsalvageable. Yet, I continued on to finish the painting despite this knowledge. I re-learned something that day, which I learn anew every time I create art.
Art is cathartic. Art is blissful. Art is hard. Art is all kinds of right and wrong. Most of all, art demands patience (if not tears). Sometimes, you just have to wait for the paint to dry to be able to add more beauty, more layers and those crucial, final touches. So here’s to next time, when I’ll know how to wait.
I think I’ve started the new year on the right note. I travelled. Twice in the very first month, in fact. And I paused. I paused myself, my thoughts and life itself. In the middle of mountains and the whitest of clouds. Underneath blue skies and a canopy of lush trees. I didn’t hear people, but I still heard sounds. Of the birds chirping. And gushing waters abound. I lost myself to adventure. I found myself in joy. I gave myself to the wilderness and I brought myself pure happiness.
Yes, I think I started the new year on a beautiful note. How have you been doing?
A noob and a joke
A cup of coffee and you’re broke
Say feminism to seem woke
But get rid of the patriarchal yoke
Then live with pride till you croak
And a few real tears you might evoke
Moonlighting Scrivener 