Dilemma.

Do you know the feeling when a perfect image inside your head is split across?
Did the shattered pieces pierce on your heart that it left you all empty?
This feeling makes me cry for hours and then sometimes I couldn’t shed a tear.
The ache is strong to put it out in words.

I am at the crossroads and I have been witnessing the cracks already.
I am not sure whom I should lay my trust on,
my beliefs, my ideologies or the facts that lay down before me.
If I unravel the truth, my soul will be in tatters.
I don down this happy exterior, a façade to hide the inner agony

Forgiveness is the key, they say, to unshackle my mind from the terrifying thoughts.
However, I don’t want to. I ignore the situation beforehand.
I refuse to believe the portrayal and choose to hang there, too afraid to let go.

He is a beautiful Cancerian, my man, so sensitive.
He understands emotions so much better than me, he sees me suffering and wants to break down the walls I stay in, only to meet disappointment.
He is supposed to be my safe harbor, a haven, to escape the brutal realities
but the storms I am facing aren’t easy to tame.
Because  It is my grief, my own; I need to face it myself.

In spite of facing the demons alone, I think of him as a privilege.
With him, I want to put a pause on time and undue the damage.
Tell him every unsaid word.

Too exhausted at this juncture, I have begun to trust the universe, to unfold a path for me.
I am hopeful about the arrival of sunrise to break the silences which dusk left behind.

The Last First Time

The first time we visited the coastline, it became evident that it will hold onto our hearts forever.

The sea, the breeze, the peace, It bought all the good vibes for us. Nothing seemed to go wrong under that promenade.

Standing on the shoreline, I hold onto your arm, wondering when will be our next time?

The vast stretch of sea fails to calms my nerves, with every wave that kisses the shoreline fastens the moment between us.

I choke up and want to tell you a thousand things but I got reasons not to.

I lay aside all those talks, for you to come back.

Why can’t we think it of as the firsts of our lasts?

Wouldnt this glistening Sunset remind you of me?

Because the hue and twilight, trickles my soft heart and reminds me of your touch.

These fleeting moments between us are ethched into my mind. And I couldn’t ask for more.

For, Don’t you think how beautiful this illusion is, that we create for ourselves, everytime!

You, me, the shoreline and our little forever!

Birthday Note for Dad.

Dearest Dad,
Remember when we traveled from Kolkata to Mumbai on a 1 and half hour flight?
You negotiated with the Front desk at the airlines to let your daughter have the window seat. Only Because it was your 11 year old naive daughter’s first time on the Airplane.
Unfortunately, That very day you bought me a book too.
For the entire duration of flight, you were amused to find me busy reading the book, rather than adoring the cluster of clouds from my window seat.

Eventually, You figured out later in life where my interests lay when I choose a path in Journalism. You never asked me to change my mind and I am grateful for that.

When you drove 50 kms from home to a hill station on a holiday, just so that your kids can have a better picture of Sunset, I just knew. I knew that you passed on your little creative inputs in us. The unsaid thought, You dream through our eyes too.

Often, a father’s affection is sidelined. I for that matter, fail to understand that it is layered with your concern when I don’t make it in hostel on time.
It is hidden within your yelling every time I commit a mistake.
Your love reflects when you boast my achievements(no matter how tiny they are) in front of friends and family.

All I know is I can rely on you forever. Thank You, Papa.

IMG_3092Happy Birthday.
Love,
Ragini

Dear 40 Year old me,

Well, I am just checking up on you. I am your 20 year old self, lazing on the couch, trying to complete this article that is already past the deadline.

I am sure you are all grown up and pretty much figured life as of now and if not, that’s okay too. 20 years weren’t enough, I guess.
For starters, I hope you did shoot that path-breaking documentary on gender equality that you always wanted too. If not the documentary, I am optimistic that you did publish the book that you always aspired too.

I anticipate that your passport pages aren’t blank anymore. I wish you did achieve your travel aspirations. I hope you got to see lots of beautiful sunsets along the beach. I wish with all my heart that you checked off London from the bucket list. Did you get the tattoo that you longed for so long? I hope you did and don’t regret about getting it.

If you got really lucky, you are probably having someone special reading this letter along with you. I hope he loves you right and means the world to you. I hope he supports and knows about your dreams. I belief you have kids too. I hope they are intelligent, kind and loving. I hope you let them have a dog. I hope you taught them the value of reading. I hope they love their family as much as you do.

Sweetheart, if you haven’t had this yet, I hope you are happy anyway.
Remember, your 18 year old self who wanted to be the strong willed woman that was independent enough to take care of her own, I hope you didn’t sidetrack that dream.

I hope you are doing a good job at being an adult. I hope you finally learnt to drive the car. I hope you got your dream job and love it. I hope you discarded the habit of over-thinking.

I hope you love your body the way it is. It doesn’t matter if you gained few pounds or shed off 10 just love yourself extra every day. Wear your favorite perfume, put on the red lipstick and stop thinking if you will be able to pull off the black dress. Just be yourself.

I hope you exercise well. Listen to good music and have good food.

I hope you have stopped arguing with Mom on silliest of matters. I hope you have got better in taking take care of Mom and Dad. Talk to them. They are getting old too.

Don’t worry about your wrinkles much. Make people happy. Meet some amazing ones, along the way; tell them how important they are. Love your friends and family, they are the most precious ones and you can’t lose out on them.

And sometimes, just sometimes, when you feel nothing is working out the way it was supposed to, know you still have much to live for. You have so much to see and there is something better waiting for.
You have done wonders before; you will do some now too. Hold your breath and wait!

– Your 20 year old self

Deliberate Rains

I always felt a kinship with Rains, they encouraged me to have a fresh start.

Nights muddled my mind to witness the morning aghast.

The thunderstorms of night roared all over my mind, making me question my decisions.

Pouring droplets on the window pane felt like a recession.

Rains bought a faith along with them, that would wipe out the dirt from earth and begin a new life.
Trusting that faith, I am looking for a new hope for us, love.

Thoughts rekindled with dangling of the drops when earpassed. It felt like as it felt before, the singing of totted doves.

I remember the last time it rained, you were lying beside me, talking about how uncertain path we were leading.

I teared up and it seemed nature responded too with another lightning.

A pat suddenly cult my back and it was a mere abstract of feelings we had.

You and me was imperfection under the glittering stars.

It wasn’t late to shower the crack.

Under that clear moonlight, I sit by my window, look at the rains and wonder when will you come back.

Picture credits- Pinterest
Collaobration with my lovely friend
Devika Agarwal .
Devika is an aspiring author from Mumbai and wishes to pen down a novel one day.Check out her blog for her writings.

MELANCHOLY:

Last night I had a strange dream,
Strange as it was, I saw myself in it,
Me as the 10-year-old in Mom’s favorite Polka dot dress  and a handkerchief attached to my chest,
Her skin glowed, the cheekbones sported the cherry red color and the eyes held an innocence that initiated a conversation with me!
She asked me about the years that went by,
the unsaid fantasies, the wearisome heartbreaks, and the unshed tears.
I told her about everything.
Looking at her, I see how untainted as a person I was,
looking at her, I see what a mess I have become.

I realize it been years and Time by time, I do things for people and still feel empty,
I never raised my voice for the atrocities that I faced,
I was betrayed by my own people,
I got my heart shattered into million pieces,  whose  broken voices still echo at night and
And then there’s insomnia lurking at my bedroom door.

“You have been too hard on yourself. It’s okay to be a mess sometimes. Feel those emotions and let yourself be untangled for a while.” She gripped my hand and I sighed.
I see her disappearing into thin air, grinning from ear to ear
the dream left a silly impression on me

I wake up with a jolt, spiraling into the darkness again,
wondering what kind of hallucination I was imagining
alone on a quest, I am afraid I am shipwrecked,
somehow more lonesome than before.

However, slowly, I am learning to disintegrate myself and look for the lacking sunshine.
Among heavy crowds, places, things, promises; somewhere where I can blend perfectly;
I will find myself and fix my broken self.

I comprehend that everyone deserves a happy ending and I am ready to find mine.

18299526_430914157264896_7229845485899481088_n.jpg

MODEL: Hanisha Kedia
Hanisha Kedia is an aspiring actress from Mumbai. A true Bollywood fan by heart, she has performed for theater plays and short films.

Photographer- Abhinandan Sharma
For Abhinandan, “Art imitates Life.”

ABANDONED:

I am a mere passerby, I hear the bricks mumble, there’s a crack in them,
maybe of our broken dreams.
I look for vague Silhouettes but seems they have cast off to a land unknown.
I see doors creak, Watch the silverware partying where nobody is invited.
The scotch in rack ages every day, waiting for some lips to kiss.
Under the clear moonlight,
You stand still reeking of betrayal.
Standing from a distance, I see the shadows have forgotten you.
This refined silence of yours leaves unsettling feelings in the pit of my stomach.
A cloud of anxiety looms over me seeking answers no one will tell me.
I stop and gawk at your beauty.
I, a mere passerby, is compelled to ask, “What is that you have lost?

Tourist

The bedside clock ticks six, reminding me that it is my cue to leave.
And, I lie here beside you, entangled in your embrace, grazing my hand over your broad back.
Trying to memorize every inch of your nakedness, wrapped in the satin of our bed sheet, I lie here recollecting our previous night.
Wide-eyed, I remember about our chance meeting & the happy accident that followed for so many years.

I wonder, was our love a mistake?
I ponder over our last night’s escapades.
Smiling, I remember how we couldn’t keep hands off from one another.
We made love under the fiery moonlight.
My eyes graze over your freckles; I kissed each one of them.

My fingers trail down the flop of your hair covering your forehead.
“You need a haircut” I hear my voice.
You moan and pull me close.
Those touches, that embrace send shivers down my spine.
It fills my heart and clogs my mind.
I steal a glimpse of you. Steal few kisses. Am I doing the right thing?
Oh! How hard it would be to look into your eyes and say the final Goodbye.

Posting  the  note on clipboard, “We are destined to say Goodbye.”
I hold my suitcase and turn around to find you wide awake.
Bewildered, you pledge with your eyes, asking me to Stay.
But baby, the Tourist heart of mine can never be called Home!
The bedside clock ticks six, reminding me that it is my cue to leave.

Bring back the charm of Handwritten Letters!

“What a lot we lost when we stopped writing letters. You can’t reread a phone call.” -Liz Carpenter

I remember the day when mom pulled out her old memory trunk from the end of her cupboard. Too curious to know what was stored in it, I unlocked the latch while she wasn’t looking. To my surprise, it had letters. Handwritten letters. Few postcards too.
Letters from Nani and Masi. When I looked up, she was grinning till ears. She wasn’t angry that I invaded her privacy.In fact, she was reminiscing the memories.

These letters were written after her wedding. Every letter came up with concerns on how she was doing with a few pointers to have a happy marriage by Masi. These letters were anticipated by my mother because somehow they smelled of the home she left behind. Reminded of the solitude one felt while resting her head on her mumma’s lap at the end of a consuming day.
In one particular letter, I made a guest appearance too.It was posted right after my birth. In her scratchy handwriting, my Nani asked, “How the little one is doing?”  I was already a star. It was the last of the slot. Mom got busy with me and Nani was growing old too. The letters disappeared after that.

Holding my mother’s letters, I realized what a lovely legacy my Nani is leaving behind. My mom will hold the same postcard few years down the line and feel connected to her more than ever.

In that particular trunk, I found letters and greeting cards that were exchanged between mom and dad before marriage. The letters had a chronology. Few scribbled words on Hallmark Greeting cards to full-fledged letters, they somehow evolved with time. I didn’t trespass further considering it was too intimate part of their lives.

One of my favorite teachers always drifted away from the lesson he used to teach. One fine day he recounted us with his love story. My High School English teacher proposed his wife with a colorful letter that was sprinkled with perfume, feelings written in a beautiful handwriting. He bought an expensive envelope filled it with rose petals and posted it. I cringed at his story while he narrated it to my class as it was filled with clichéd romance. But that old man never shies away on narrating the same thing again and again with a smile on his face. They have been together for 50 years now and the words of the letter still exist, still, hold true.

That day I felt, Handwriting is a disappearing art. Because, surprisingly, Long captions along with Hashtags over Facebook took their place. And let’s not hide the fact that, I am guilty of doing the same. How can a huge caption express the same emotion that a handwritten letter is capable of doing? How can a single emoticon convey that I am happy because behind the screen I might be crying my eyes out.
I am all for Email writing and thinking while typing, but why not savor this habit too? Why don’t we have both activities coinciding simultaneously?

So go out and buy that fountain pen, pour out your feelings and write a letter to your loved one. Because words never go wrong. Because they would know that even if it was for a fraction of a second, the person was all over your mind while compiling the note.
Because, down the road, words will always stay, even if we don’t.

“Love me, just like how you wrote in that letter. Be a poem.”

FOR THE LOVE OF LETTERS, COURIERS, POSTCARDS!

– Ragini

You and I are a Cliche!

Editorial Travel Photography: The reading girl at the coffee shop, brulerie Saint Denis, Rosemont District, Montreal, QuebecYou and I are living a Cliche.
A cliche where a good girl falls for a bad guy
A cliche that makes us roll our eyes when we watch it in romantic comedies but feels surreal while experiencing.
The belly full of butterflies, heart skipping a beat, weak in knees and much more than that, YES those kind of cliches
A cliche that would always be a paragraph but never a story.
A cliche where a princess is smitten to a commoner.
A cliche where the girl takes upon herself to fix the bad guy, to fix those broken parts of his soul, to aid the broken wounds.
A cliche, that reminded me of you every night when I listened to my playlist.
A cliche that made the world more beautiful and me more cheerful.
Our cliche made me realize that we were meant to stay but never together.
A cliche that would never turn into anything substantial
A cliche that required fight, sacrifices and life long commitments, which we were never capable to make.
And somewhere down the line, it made me realize that we would always be an unfinished business.We would always be termed as a cliche and not love.
Sometimes I wonder Would it be hard to let go of something, someone that was perhaps never love but a world full of cliches?
And that is why Love, You and I are a cliche that would never collide.