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Something changed a few days ago. I want to document this. When I was young I had beautiful long hair. Just like Ms.S. and I hated them too, just like she did. I somehow realised a way to cunningly get my hair chopped. It worked. And today nearly 2.5 decades later, I miss my luscious hair. My mom had to bear the brunt of my childish behaviour.  So did I, even years later. When Ms.S. started…

My beloved cabin bag Dear Bag, You were meant for exotic holidays,romantic getaways, and solo travels.But you hold much more than memories now.Your handles don’t stand tall; they droop.Your clothes, tattered.Your skin, bruised.Exposed and haggled,you hold the weight of my passion,my dreams, and so much more.Your delicate wheels, meant for fancy air travels, rumble on gravel and uneven…

At death’s doorstep, I reached,Holding a bag of all my deeds.I knew not what made it so heavy;Smiles or sadness?A lost friendship or an estranged relative?Aches or noises?Resentment or regrets?Uncomfortable,I felt underdressed,Standing at the mighty Death’s doorstep.I corrected my collar; bruised and dry,Pulled down my sleeves over bloodless arms,Tucked my shirt, tightened my belt.I stood there;…

I slid open the cupboard and noticed my separate sections. A drawer piled neatly, my everyday clothes. Wore repeatedly, washed, folded and flattened,Always in sight, always in reach. On the top sat clothes, some old, very old and those rarely worn. Touched once or twice, out of sight and out of reach. Like a memory fading buried under yesterdays and todays.Cobwebs guard them. Daily has been…

The Exit I was told to exit. I struggled in a small spaceI left with a soul. I was 9 months old. I was told to exit.I fumbled, crawled, followed instructions.I walked on my own. I was 1-year old. I was told to exit. I metamorphosed.My body and emotions, complex, transformed.I was 11-years old. I was told to exit. I held a strangers hand to escape. I shifted base, from daughter to dame.I was…

This year Ramadan is different. There is a layer of grief that blankets every moment. The khuda hafiz, The fruit chaat, The salaam, The late night chai,The loud Fajr Adhaan at home.This year Ramadan is different. There is a layer of gratitude that makes the absence of the father palatable.The prayers directed to his soul. The prayers directed to our healing. The prayers directed from all the well…

Oh Anger,My toxic love affair.I steer clear.I consciously stay away.You shadow my every step.You hover like a glorious crown.You blur my vision with power.You amplify my voice like a tsunami wave.You make me crush whatever comes my way,You make me proud of my disgusting rage.You sit on my nose, ready to pounce.You sense my dipping patience.You overtake my heart,You make me tear my loved ones…

Moons I thought planets and stars were family, friends, and children.I thought I was the earth, and everything revolved around me.I thought those who kept their distance, light-years away, were better off.I thought the stars that exploded, beloved people lost, turned to stardust, showering their blessings on my world.I thought I could exist untouched, connected to everything beyond me.But with…

Settled in corners, echoing in chores. The silence rings loud, a gong to the soul. It hides at the doorstep where salaams rang loud. It sits inside the cellphone where friends and kin called. It blankets the sofa, the hall and the walls. Silence has covered the loud father’s call. We constantly look for the call to come aliveWe keep clearing the dust of memories settled on our lives. Memories…

Death was delivered. Without a notice. No severence packageNo negotiations. The sentence was delivered, and we were logged of his timeline. Father was unexpectedly promoted. With immediate effect, changes followed:His address.His accountability.His responsibility.His existence. Death was delivered,His swift departure inspired hope, Hope for a promotion so sweet. He amassed blessings,From the…

Instead of lemons, I got served tomatoes. Let me know if you liked it. :) Love Frodo.

The tomato jumped in the water. It wanted to end its life. The others felt the pain. They followed his flight. They squashed on top of each other, Till a human made them realize, Together tomatoes make ketchup, It’s so freaking divine. They continued their sacrifice. Revealing the formula of immortality. Today ketchup isn’t a formality. It’s a necessity. The chilli was upset, seeing the tomato…

I have a phone,But I’ve lost all connections.I struggle to find my own. I have hands,But I’ve lost touch.I stretch into the void and grasp nothing.I have a heart, But I’ve lost humanity.My feelings echo in a hollow entity.I have a life, But I’ve lost instinctI search for purpose, peace. I have a house,But I’ve lost the home.Distant loved ones, gone or growing old.I have feet, But I’ve lost…

We carry burdens. Of bones,Of flesh and blood. Of ancestors and generational traumaOf blood,Of streams and viens.Of lineage and inherited painOf eyes.Of sight and visionOf the past and a blurred present Of handsOf embrace and handshakesOf forced families and estranged friends Of our own. Of emotions clinging to the heart. Drowning the soul. We carry burdens. Of infinite lives, Each unknown.

Writing should feel simple.Fun. Exhilarating. Revitalizing. But I’ve known the weight of it,that whispering meek voice,“You should be doing this.Why haven’t you started?”I open the blank pageto face the blinking cursor,to scribble and continue scribbling.Blink. Blink. Blink.Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. A tiny invisible provocation,“Still nothing?Still blank?Why don’t you write?Why don’t you?”Some…

I am a child of many hands.Grandmas and grandpas,Uncles and aunts,Cousins galore,Neighbours from every floor.A chawl that felt like a massive mansion.I am a child of many hands,loved, blessed, cherished.Never forgotten.A family so big it increased the magnanimity of every square inch.I am a child of many hands,from a place where we lived closeate, shared and grew together.I’m a child of many…

Exploring Existence What does silence feel like? A cactus? Toxic air? Ever growing pile of laundry? Traumatic? Burdensome? A facade of existence?

Six friends travel for their annual trip to The Montigo Resorts and witness the Beaver moon in full bloom.