thanks to all who've read and supported me in this short writing journey of mine over here :)

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  • candid_over_coffee 29w


    The tangibles have begun to seem
    more like a dream,
    or a nightmare, I should say.
    And there sits a pen,
    luring me, to hold it
    and fill those blank sheets.
    “An escape from the reality”
    or an escape to it?
    Which of the realities
    is more real?
    The one that is playing out?
    Or the one I’m penning down?
    There’s a fine tightrope
    the one I live in
    from the one I live in my poems
    and I have been walking on it
    like a blind-drunk acrobat.
    Which part of my writings is me?
    Which, imaginary?
    I know not anymore.
    Is there even a difference
    between the two?
    I know not even that.


  • candid_over_coffee 29w


    Labelled me a coward
    for giving up that day
    instead of fighting back.
    But, shouldn’t I be called
    ...a warrior instead?
    ‘Cause I did fight, didn’t I?
    Every single day till then,
    of those hellish years.
    But they couldn’t see it
    ‘cause none of them
    was there back then..

    "A permanent solution
    to a temporary problem"
    is what they all said.
    But how’d I have known
    that it was temporary,
    that the cherry blossoms
    would bloom again,
    that the spring wasn’t far..
    ‘cause no one ever said so
    when all I needed was
    a bit of hope, back then..
    "Oh, this is nothing
    life would throw even
    bigger challenges at you."
    "The World out there
    isn’t an easy place to stay in.
    So stop being a sensitive,
    letting everything get to you.
    Stop believing everyone out there
    is a pure and kind soul."
    None of it makes sense to me
    now, or even back then..

    But, should any of it
    matter, anymore?
    ‘Cause I have finally reached
    a different World now.
    The destination for countless
    weary travellers like me..
    A World with much more
    love, kindness and acceptance
    ‘cause it abounds in humane souls
    and not mere human bodies.
    A World which will not fail me.


  • candid_over_coffee 29w


    Trudging along a deserted lane,
    lined with trees that are turning bare;
    delved deep into the recesses of my brain,
    thinking of the times I’ve been hurt ere.
    Sick and weary of the never-ending strife
    between the harsh reality and my beliefs.
    Even the foliage has become so tired of life
    that it’s withering away, leaf by leaf.

    The vast blue is gradually getting overcast
    as I lie jaded on the sand, enclosing a bay.
    Overwhelmed by the dreadful past
    that keeps haunting me, every single day.
    Unable to hold back my tears, I break into sobs
    after years of merely pretending to be jolly.
    Even the sky cannot stop pouring untold drops
    into the hollows of my melancholy.

    Perching on a rock, by the countryside,
    the moon has waned into nothingness.
    After all this time no one’s stayed by my side,
    no one to make my grievances seem less.
    Still searching for hope, in this hollow World
    but it seems till eternity I’ll have to wait.
    Even the stars have chosen to remain veiled
    leaving the sky to its dark fate.


  • candid_over_coffee 31w

    I just had to write it down.

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    8 pm.
    I need to study. I sit down to study.
    NCERT, Biology. The limbic system is involved in the regulation of sexual behaviour, expression of emotional reactions and motivation. Hippocampus, Amyg—

    Fuck, what? Wait. Why isn’t there a single mention of any disorders in the chapter of Nervous System, unlike all the other physiology chapters? Really? You mention jaundice and diabetes and cretinism and emphysema and frickin’ 30 other “Disorders of the Digestive/Respiratory/Circulatory/Excretory/Muscular/Skeletal/Hormonal/everyothersystem” and not a single disorder of the brain? Where’s bipolar and schizophrenia and ASD and Alzheimer’s and goddamn so many of them?!
    You know what, let it be, 'cause I'm sure if any of them were mentioned, it'd have been in the most vague and misleading way possible.


    Coffee. I need coffee.
    Oh. No. Wait. Caffeine it is.
    Milk? Less. Sugar? Less. Coffee beans? More.
    More. More. More.
    Caffeine shots? Yas. That’s it.

    I-AM-AWAKE. But Finch isn’t, anymore. (Okay, no more references of him, I promise.)

    Let’s talk. Chat. Build up a conversation.
    1. “Hi! What’s up?”-“Hello, all good, what about you?”-“Yeah, me too.”-*smiling emoji*-*purple heart*
    2. “Hi, kaise ho?”-“Badhiya, tum batao”-“Main bhi ekdum theek”-*sparkles emoji*-“:)”
    3. “Hey, how are you?”-“Heya! I’m good, and you?”-“Me? I’m fucked up. I’m a mess. An emotional wreck. Boards? Cancelled. Entrance? Nofknidea. Friends? Where are most of them? Where? Has everyone like, gone underground? School? What’s that? When was the last time we went there? Relatives? Neighbours? Family friends? Where are they? How many are even there? ‘Cause the last I heard, one of mom’s colleague lost both her in-laws and her husband in one single month and my friend lost her father and dad’s juniors, barely in their thirties, lost their lives to Covid and fuck I don’t even know what to say anymore or do anymore ‘cause every damn day thousands and lakhs of people are struggling to breathe and these aren’t even some random people, these are people we used to hang out with, have dinner with, go to movies with. I’m waking up tired, going to bed wide awake, at 4 in the morning, getting up at 9, falling asleep at 1 in the afternoon, taking a bath at 6 in the evening, crying at every other thing, staring at the wall like a zombie and, and-“
    Geeez I’m finally talking to someone, letting it out! Yayyyy! But-

    “Kya hua hai tujhe? Khud se kya baat kar rahi hai? 11 baj rahe, main sone jaa rahi hu, dinner kar le ab, Rajma garam kar lena khaane se pehle, thanda ho gaya hoga ab tak,” said Mom.

    Yay? Ha-ha-ha.

    I don’t put the rajma in the microwave. I don’t even take a plate ‘cause fuck the rice spreads on it and it feels like I’m eating SO MUCH.
    I take a bowl. Put some rice and the rajma, cold. I am okay eating it that way, ‘cause it doesn’t feel cold. My lips, skin, soul, they are much more colder than those beans. They feel warm instead.

    The Universe works on the theory of relativity, you know (uh, not the Einstein one). We don’t consider things as absolute entities. Everything is a comparison. Relative.

    The Moon isn’t absolutely magical or romantic. It is, more than the flowers in your garden, less than those twinkling stars. Even the stars aren’t absolute. We’ll write more passionately about some faraway galaxy, than we’ll ever write about the stars. A galaxy which we have never seen, and will never see as well.
    See, distance makes the heart grow fonder.
    But why?

    Maybe ‘cause the farther it is, the more we can expand our imagination and escape the reality. Take for example the Moon, it is so fuckin’ close that even its scars are visible! But the galaxy you write about, does it have any flaws? No. it is a paradise.

    Who was the last person you said ‘I love you’ to or wrote a poem about? Your parents? Siblings? Friends? Or that guy you make love with, each day, in your dreams? The guy who never really existed, and goddamn admit it, will never exist too. Why do you love him with all of that hopeless fist-sized organ of yours? ‘Cause he is made up of your thoughts, your whims.
    He is that distant galaxy you wanna be in. Be with.

    Maybe he is Finch? (See, I need to keep promises and let go of him but I always end up doing the opposite.)
    Maybe the galaxy does exist and the Blue Hole was nothing but a tunnel to it?

    The Universe is expanding. Those galaxies were much closer to us at some point of time. But then, their craters, undulations and storms were visible.
    Their flaws, scars and ‘bad times’ were visible.
    They had to go far away for us to madly fall in love with them.

    Ah. Humans. Humans. Humans.

    There isn’t much to look forward to. But I’ll await the day I love the Moon so crazily and write about it such that those galaxies will cease to exist.

    Maybe, someday, we all will be so lovely and accepting that those galaxies won’t need to be created, anymore.
    Maybe, someday, we will stop romanticizing the idea of “falling apart to realize how much we need to get back together” and work towards not falling apart, in the first place. Not just two people, but we in ourselves too.

    But what if it gets too late?

    I guess it’ll be worth sending "I love you" to di and trying to snuggle my way between mom and dad and kiss them both goodnight,



  • candid_over_coffee 31w

    I don't know what this is.

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    It is 10 in the morning. I have woken up. But the Sun hasn’t risen yet. It is still raining, just like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before, since an entire fortnight now! Both, literally, and metaphorically.

    The doorbell rings. Amazon. It has been ringing a lot since the past few days. Gifts pouring in. Oh, happy 18 to me! Soon. Everyone’s excited. Me? No.

    There’s a cushion amdist dresses and party props. A cushion with Garfield stretching his hands, with “One long distance HUG for you” written on top. Dad is closely examining this, one among many others sent by my sister, and I say, “You have to hug him Papa!” He kisses it instead. I laugh. “Aaannn you have to HUG him!!! Not kiss him!” He smiles back and hugs the cushion next. I keep laughing and then chuckling for some time.

    But what I want to do is, cry. Cry, and shreik, “Why are you guys so good?! What have I done to get parents and siblings like you?!”

    I want to stand on a ledge and, no not jump, but shout, from the top of the world, at the top of my voice, “What have I done that you love me so much? Mom, why don’t you just splash a glass of water on my face when I fall asleep while studying? Why is it that everytime I wake up, I find myself lying comfortably on a bed, with a pillow under my head and a blanket over me? Dad, why do you come home with momos and pizzas for me? Try to be silly despite being so wise, just to make me laugh? Di, why don’t you just spend all your money on yourself? Why don't you just hang up the phone when I go on endlessly grumbling about life? Why do all of you care so much? So selflessly? For this absolutely undeserving and worthless being who, despite all of this, is, just, sad, incapable of returning such a love? Do I really make you happy and proud? Am I any close to enough?”
    I don't know.

    Nevermind. Guilt is a regular emotion now.

    The skies too seem to be weeping with me. Or maybe I’m weeping with them. But why is either of us weeping in the first place? Neither of us knows.

    I go to my room. It is in the farthest corner of our home. I like it there, it feels just, being in one corner.
    6 playlists brimming with English songs. But the 7th one is playing on a loop. A L-O-O-P. NO! Don’t pronounce it! Spell it, L-O-O-P. Yeah, that’s the emphasis. ‘Cause it doesn’t have songs, it has memories. It is home.

    Bunny is leaving, for so long it’ll seem forever. And all Naina manages to say is, “Subah ho gayi.” True that. The night always ends, always. Just that, each time, the dawn doesn’t come with the promise of better times. It could be worse too. Lonelier, to be more specific.

    //Ban liya apna paigambar
    Tair liya tu saat samandar
    Phir bhi sookha man ke andar
    Kyun reh gya..
    Re kabira maan ja, re fakeera maan jaa
    Aaja tujhko pukaarein teri parchhaiyaan//
    “Kitne jaldi jaldi bade ho gaye na hum, Bunny.”
    Kitne jaldi..

    Prateek Kuhad doesn’t sing, he speaks to my soul, legit. From Saansein to Kho gaye hum kahaan and Kasoor.
    /Kuch mere raaz tere raaz awaara se./
    I smile.

    //Boondon se hi, toh hain wahin
    Baandh lenge leherein
    Pairon tale jo bhi mile
    Baandh lenge hum
    Kinare... Kinare... Kinare...
    Khud hi toh hai hum, kinaare...
    Kaise honge kam, kinare...
    Hain jahaan hai hum, kinare...
    Khud hi toh hai hum//
    I too want to wear a frock. Not pink and white, but blue, like the skies; and run, like Rani, on the streets of Paris. Brooklyn too. And Amsterdam.

    Christmas trees make me feel uneasy now. All I can see in them are PET scans. All lit up. Colourful.

    Colourful like the five different highlighters I hold in my hand, tracing waves on the last page of my notebook [‘that’ page]. I keep tracing, in all the 5 colours. Horizontal. Vertical. Overlapping. Oblique. Waves. Lines. Shapes.
    It is a mess. I am a mess. It is me? It might be him?
    I write on it, “I wanna live in a World created by Theodore Finch.”

    Theodore Finch, all colours in one, always. No, not Violet. I just can’t get myself to think of her when I read this line. It is Finch, it has always been him, it’ll always be him. All the colours in one. And the World he will create will be just like him. Bright. Colourful. Lovely. So very lovely.

    Right, Finch? Finch? Fiiinncchh? Marco?? MAAARRCCO??!!?!? What the-

    I swap back to this World. 3 nightmares and the 2nd daydream. No one shouted back Polo, in any one of them. Not even once. And I’m back to square one. Restless. Panting. Broken. Lost. Yearning. Crying.

    Nap-Lunch-Nap-Attempt a test-Nap-

    I should take a bath.

    /A doctor once advised a young girl with frequent headaches and sinusitis to take a bath before noon, preferrably at around 7 or 8 in the morning.

    She acted upon his advice. Just switched the am with pm./

    7 p.m. The cold water is trickling down my skin.


  • candid_over_coffee 31w


    Champagne bubbles,
    The sunshine in your hair.
    The infinity in your eyes,


  • candid_over_coffee 34w

    There lies a city..

    Where birds aren't confined in a cage,
    but are free to fly high in the skies;
    and so are our thoughts and feelings
    set free from the rusty bars of lies.

    Where the dust and ashes
    of broken hopes and dreams
    coalesce to form cosmic stars,
    that lead us with their guiding beams.

    Where life is but a symphony
    composed of lovely emotions.
    Where the society doesn't set rules
    and we're free to follow our passions.

    Where metaphors growing along the lanes,
    unknown to worldly adversities,
    are nourished by our love's warmth,
    to flower into poetries.

    /The city where we never were.
    The city where we'll never be.
    'Cause it resides in my heart,
    far from the existing reality./


    #cg_city_chall @luvnotes_challenge_host

    @ellita @brooklyn13 @whompingwillow

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  • candid_over_coffee 34w

    Roses are red, violets blue;
    Isn't so a slit and bruised skin's hue?

    Love's a drug, healing deep wounds.
    But what if it morphs into abuse?
    As the very foundation of trust
    It was built on, crumbles to dust.

    Roses are red, violets blue;
    So is a slit and bruised skin's hue.


    @writersbay started off with the syllable count in mind, but turns out I couldn't really follow that for long *facepalm*. Anyways, gave it a try.

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  • candid_over_coffee 34w

    The uncertainties
    of the future,
    and the regrets
    of the past,
    haunt me
    while asleep
    leaving me with,
    just the present
    that shouldn't really be
    with a nightmare
    it is the reality
    I'm living in,
    and they say
    nightmares are
    unpleasant 'dreams'.

    But then, I wonder,
    is the reality
    even real?
    Or the incessant flashbacks
    of the times lived
    and the constant worry
    of the times to be
    have obscured
    the line between
    the past,
    and the future
    to such an extent
    that the present
    has simply ceased
    to exist.


    PC: Pinterest

    @writersnetwork @mirakee

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  • candid_over_coffee 36w

    i watch her go to work
    each morning,
    yet with hopeful eyes,
    looking forward to
    this routine respite
    and return by dusk
    with a bottle of
    in trembling hands,
    with helpless eyes,
    looking up,
    only to see
    the ever viole(n)t night.

    those muffled voices,
    and unsettling noises
    send a chill down my spine
    and every other time
    i wake up
    from a nightmare,
    i wonder,
    if it was better
    or worse
    than the reality
    playing beside.
    one fine day,
    she finally accepted
    our invitation
    and came over
    to celebrate Halloween
    that was when i saw her
    for the first time;
    her face full of
    weary signs
    of long days
    and longer nights
    and her split lips
    with a crooked smile.

    trick or treat?
    a kid asked her,
    "trick me into a lie
    and less brutal
    than the ring
    that chains my finger."
    she inadvertently


    #neighbourhooddiaries part III
    @writersnetwork @mirakee

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    the woman next door

    do you still wonder
    even in the scorching sun
    she wears
    a full-sleeved