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A Traveler's Saga

Oh! What are these days I have found myself in!
The bagpacks I carry no longer feel that heavy;
What have they lost if not for a few coins, a few notes,
some letters written long ago, a few locks, a few clothes?
Or is it the loss of some fears, some shackles, some thoughts tied to their waist belts several years ago?
Where is the fatigue? Where are the tears that drenched my pillow?
Where is the inability to wake up early in the morning and the incessant desire to sleep forever?
Today, every time I close my eyes, I need to type, I need to write.
Where is the indolence, the procrastination, the lack of, as I would say whenever they ask, the "limited time"?
What is this insouciance called?
Where have eloped the eternal need for love, money and the things I've already sold?
Why Plath has shut her eyes today whom I so deeply adored?
Bukowski's Bluebird is set free now while Sahir's pleas I dearly hold,
Because when he asks his muse not to leave before the fall of th…
Recent posts

Embracing the Late Twenties

I have been wanting to pen aturning-something post ever since I turned 21.
However, at 21, it was too early to write about the “profound wisdom” I had gained about the world.
At 22, it was cliché.
I was busy stuffing myself with cake all the subsequent years to suddenly wake up one day and find myself on the wrong side of 25 yet neither at the pinnacle of wisdom nor covered in the blanket of naivety. I reach an age after which I am probably going to keep chanting the phrase “age doesn’t matter” a lot to myself. But till then I heave a sigh as I pick up phone-calls from distant friends wishing me a happy birthday, and marvel at the fact how easily things change with age.
You grow up whether you want to or not- your new job and the new place ensures that you do.
You turn wiser and you laugh at the wisdom you thought you had gained when you were only 22 and a fan of Taylor Swift songs.
You also realize you know nothing today as compared to what you are about to see tomorrow.
Every day is a c…

Routine 101

I can tell the time of the day
just by looking at your face-

a glow of hope when it's five
you rejoice the new day,

tired eyes by it's nine-
same old story, same old game,

at four you need your coffee
during the office cigarette-break,

at ten you look so exhausted
as another day comes to an end,

you'd draw the curtains at midnight-
another day closer to death.

Atrocity in a Smart-City - Bhubaneswar

Related Post - Atrocity in a Metro City - Hyderabad
I haven’t had a decent cup of tea in a long time – the kind that refreshes you within seconds. Bhubaneswar has no dearth of tea stalls that do not shy in putting enough milk in the cup. However, the hot weather doesn’t allow one to drink as many cups of tea as one would have while living in Guwahati.
After the third cup of the day, I feel nauseas. And when tea isn’t there to sweep you off your worries, everything else starts bothering you.
When I first landed in the city last year in September I was impressed by how the cabs arrive just minutes after you’ve booked one, how the roads are free of potholes in the major parts of the city, how the highway helps me travel anywhere in twenty minutes even when I live a little outside of the main city.
Perceptions do not take long to change and I am now often reminded of the quote in Sanskrit that says दूरस्थाःपर्वताःरम्याः – the hills look lovely but only from a distance.For when you see t…

When I Stopped Writing

People I usually meet in person first, often come back to me with this statement later – Oh, I didn’t know you write. Some acquaintances have often declared that I don’t look like someone who would write. I don’t ponder upon such words much but I am slightly bothered by the one I heard last week – “Why did you stop writing?”
I was taken aback. I never stopped writing. Who said I had? So I went back and looked at the source she was referring to- My blog. The last date said October 2017. It’s indeed been 5 months; maybe I did stop writing after all.
The last time I wrote something I was in Rourkela, a peaceful city in Western Odisha where life was as slow as it could get. I moved to the capital, Bhubaneswar in late November where every morning I would wake up late but still manage to write a short poem while rushing on my way to work. Within two months I found myself loaded with responsibilities that made my shoulders bend. I would wake up as early as 6 in the morning, I would dream of…

The Self-Help Book

He slicks his dark black hair back with his fingers. Outside, it was broad daylight, offering his dark brown eyes a view of the western part of the city. The neighboring tall buildings remind him he is on the 22nd floor of his workplace. He finishes off the remnants of his black coffee, already cold by now. The half-smoked cigarette burns out on the ashtray. He pulls the ropes of his French window and his cabin is no longer reminded of the world outside.
 He turns his swivel chair with the support of his desk to face a laptop in front of him that wastes no time in taking him to another world altogether. The white striped shirt he is wearing with his dark grey tie match the colors on the back of his laptop that flaunt the initials “S. R.”.
* An unexpected knock on her door wakes Sheena up from her siesta. She reaches for the yellow dupatta lying carelessly on the other side of the bed, as if it was equally tired from the previous day’s work. She wears the dupatta around her neck cove…

Rest in Peace, Old Friend

Dedicated to Partha Deka, a friend I had known since I was a child, a friend fate had brought to me back this year, only to be taken away again 

Remnants of a smile on a stone-cold face
And maybe you can fool everyone again
That death isn't as painful as we make it to be...
Some tears bottled up from months gone by-
You'd say judge not how one deals with loss...
Dying dreams like drops of dew under a rising sun,
You'd laugh they don't chain your ankles anymore...
We'd cry for we wouldn't know any better
And make stories of your new whereabouts,
Playing MJ songs and laughing at your own jokes...
Or in a make-believe world of hope,
Somewhere in peace in a dreamless sleep...

The Boy in the Train

"You'll always be late for the previous train, and always on time for the next.” 
― Piet Hein

I rejoice whenever I get a window seat on Indian trains whenever it’s a chair car (otherwise Upper Berth would be my spot), more so when it is the last seat near the door, usually marked 4. There’s always more legroom for those who get the last seat. The TTE (Train Ticket Examiner) sits in the same seat on the other column, marked 1, which feels quite safe for a single woman traveller. When I need to leave my seat for a short break, it’s the TT (in short for TTE) who would watch over my luggage. When I need to ask how delayed the train was, it was again the TT, my neighbour for the journey.
However, sitting near the TT comes with other experiences too apart from the sense of security. There would be travellers without a ticket, looking for a vacant seat, who would sit on the TT’s seat itself pretending it’s theirs and later being laughed at, when busted. There would be people coming t…