IRIDESCENT.

A week ago, while we celebrated our “fake” graduation and took pictures with our friends and got nostalgic over the last couple years of high school, an 8-year old’s family was fighting for justice against a failed judiciary system that’s overrun by politics. It’s important to put things into perspective. While I don’t normally write such blog posts and usually tend to indulge in my domain of creative writing, I believe this was one such occasion where I felt the need to speak up and put my freedom of speech to a better use. Sure, you can argue that this blog post is not actually going to help Asifa Bano and her family, because even though millions have signed petitions after petitions and organised protests after protests across the country, the Supreme Court of India fails to declare a verdict on this horrendous incident.           What I find unbelievably shocking is how politics is the actual cause of this heinous crime, where the perpetrators are yet to f

I fell in love with love. . Age 2. I fell in love with the sound of cuckoos chirping in the balcony. The melodies brought me happiness, the sight of a bird taking flight brought me wondrous curiosity. Love, I realised, was happiness. . Age 4. I fell in love with my toy cars. Playing around with them all day and all night, imagining all the car races I have to win, the sound of my engine revving past the finish line. Love, I realised, was desire and obsession. . Age 6. I fell in love with the sight of planes in the sky. The way they took off from the ground, giving flight to themselves and to my dreams of growing up to be a pilot. I wanted to see more of the word and know more of the world. Love, I realised, was burning curiosity and wonder. . Age 8. I fell in love with football. Beckoning my friends from the minute I came home till the minute my mom called me because dinner was being served, and then wearing my favourite jersey and watching my dream team

I recently learnt from my mistakes, that everything in the world is temporary and short-lived, except the love of your family and your upbringing that they inculcate in you. It’s a wise lesson I learnt at the age of 17, but it has been the foundation of your value system from your early childhood. . While I run behind the allure of having “friends”, you gave that up without a second thought, to let your life revolve around the needs and wants and desires of your family. I do not know how you do it every single day, time and again, living the sacrifice and working yourself to the point where your body just aches and your mind craves peace and rest. . I can only try to be like you one day, looking up to you and staring at the love and pain you carry in your eyes. While I don’t acknowledge you enough, I truly believe that nobody can compare to you, not even your father. You, like the meaning behind your name, Pankaj, are the kind of person who blossoms and grows and prospers, ev

You always knew that I was the paper to your pair of scissors. The way you cut through me- with ease, with subtle precision, with a sharp sense of grace...You knew what you were doing. You knew how good you were at it. But when you were done, Did you leave behind a masterpiece? No. You left behind hundreds of thousands of tiny paper shards of myself. My heart, my soul, my everything . x-x-x Did you think I could heal and  tape myself  back together? There were some parts of me you tore away, that I can never get back. I will always feel incomplete, incompetent, insecure. You showed me that I was not good enough for this world . x-x-x For you were my world.  I thought I was your Atlas. I tried to take your weight on my shoulders. To share your burden. To provide the support I thought you needed. I just never realised when you reached the point that you didn’t need me anymore. I never realised when my worth turned out to be equivalent to

I write. I write about the stories of 2 am tears and drained eyes at late hours; about the thoughts that refuse to wash away with the torrents that come raining down my face; about the stars up there which once upon a time twinkled upon me, as if they wished to come down and descend onto our earth – but later realized that they’re better off where they are. They were smart enough to fathom that even though things looked beautiful from afar…everything was uglier up close. I cry myself dry as I write away my agony, downing my misery in magnums of alcohol until my lips are numb to the taste of the last remaining drops from the now-empty bottles. I surrender myself to the pain that threatens to engulf me, as I cry myself dry at the same spot I’ve been faking a smile every single day. I write. I write about the memories. Distant…fading. My parents died in a car crash when I was only a few months old. My mother had shielded me from the full force of the impact, giving up her life s

The dream felt like a confused memory, The silence an oppressive gloom. The fate of the world rested on my shoulder, Few hours for the world to go "BOOM". My mind was a vacuum, An overwhelming sense of emptiness. My heart caught in my throat, How do I overcome this apprehensiveness? Every teardrop is a waterfall, Each word a gash on my heart. I've strived so hard with my blood and my sweat. I've struggled and endeavoured, I've come afar. But when I have to face it, The final moment of truth. It strikes me and I fall behind, In front of me, He stood. A towering figure of purity, Making me feel instantly calm. As if the world around me had just paused, And then He took me by one arm. His presence, a welcoming comfort. His grip, steadying me, yet firm. And I welcomed Death with open arms, And died a noble death I deserved. I fell like a fallen warrior, As Death laid out His dominion, And watch from a land that I knew not existed, As