I Can’t Sleep. 

Days are filled with anxiety

I can’t do well with new people surrounding me

Constant thoughts of are they judging me ? 

Judging the fact that I can’t speak in Hindi. 

Or that sometimes I sound too rude without me trying. 

Or that sometimes I can’t continue the conversation without lying. 

Just to be accepted by those surrounding me so that I won’t have to stand alone all lonely. 

College isn’t supposed to be this hard. 

I’m not supposed to sound like a patient in a depressed ward. 

It’s so bad that I can hardly sleep. Nightmares filled with people jeering at me. Questioning fashion choices or beliefs. 

Why is society so hard to please ?

I know this seems like a first world problem to you, but I’ve never been more anxious and that’s the truth. 

New people frighten me. I think I’ve made that quite clear. But here’s the plot twist. 

Nobody here sees that fright inside me because I put out a front of confidence and fake the lack of anxiety. 

So how does one get help for a problem no one else can see. 

Well that’s the solution I’m trying to seek. 

Usually my poems aren’t true. They are based on the rhyming scheme. If a character has to die for the rhyming scheme, the character will die. This is the first time every single sentence in the poem is true. Every single one. I hope you like it. It’s not my best, I agree. But after all, it’s a problem and I’m glad I let it out of me. 

Happy Birthday 

The leaves rustled. The sun shone. 

The streets bustled. Against the light of the morn. 

She looked up high. At the sky. 

She looked left and right. 

Nobody to ask her why, she was standing at the edge of a cliff. 

Ask her why she wanted to end her life like this. 

Ask her why she never wanted to live another day again. 

Ask her why she didn’t want to see her baby girl turn ten. 

Nobody there to yell, “Come down”

To yell “It’s okay”, to look at her red gown. 

After all she’d decided she’d die in style. 

The red would merge well with the red that splattered by. 

She waited and searched for a reason to halt. 

A reason to stop. Stop being a victim of assault. 

She tried to picture her baby girl cry. 

But after having cried all her life, she was immune to seeing sorrows play in front of her eyes. 

The clock struck 7. Her girl had just turned 10. 

Well look at that. She had after all lived to see that happen. 

She cleared her mind. Wished her Happy Birthday in silence. 

Hoped her girl wouldn’t just be another statistic of violence. 


Dream Team. 

Where the wind blows, there we shall go. 

Following the honeysuckle lining the road. 

Straight out of a scene from an Enid Blyton book,

We shall go explore every corner and nook. 

You and I, my darling child. 

We shall be the ones who go into the wild. 

And come out unscathed. 

Our minds filled with memories of all our escapades. 

I’ll be the single mother every single mother aspires to be. 

You and I, my precious child will form the dream team. 

And if you ever ask about your father, I won’t refuse 

And try to keep it a secret, or hide your eyes behind a ruse. 

Instead I’ll tell you openly about the innocent and naive girl that I was. 

But now that you’re here, I shall make up for that loss. 

And whenever you need a male point of view,

I’ll sit down and get a hold of my crew. 

So you’ll not have just one, but maybe two or three or four

Of my best guy friends knocking at your door. 

To help you with all your shaving messes and boy talk,

While I just sit back and watch. 

My tiny boy grow into the man he was meant to be,

And never into the man that left me. 

Clichèd But Just For You. 

It started with the perfect note like a musical. 

Not even a tad bit quizzical 

About it she was flung off into a distant romance. 

The one on which she took a chance 

On everything and anything in the city of stars

That healed all scars

And twinkled over lovers that danced all night

In the shining city of light. 

She took the chance, she took the leap. 

She foolishly tried to live the dream and tried to keep

The dream afloat in the air like a balloon far above

Flying in the sky too light to come down right now. 

And then it popped ; the balloon came down and so did the dream. 

With the circle of life the heart shattered and frayed at the seams. 

But broken hearts do mend with time. 

With the help of other broken pieces in line. 

Two broken pieces fit together to make one. 

She found another broken heart sitting and watching the sun

set. It was a lovely view. 

A view for two, with his and her broken pieces they fixed each other anew. 

It was the circle of life. One round after another. 

At least she was convinced this time that they’d always be together. 

Because no matter what she’d always remain. 

The romantic fool, a tad bit insane. 

Lane Girl. 

Somewhere in the world, is a girl out there. 

With a book on her lap, a hand in her hair. 

With dreams filling up her optimistic, young brain. 

She could set out on her journey on so many different lanes. 

But as she grows up, the lanes become narrower. 

Harder to cross, more dangerous and scarier. 

The lanes decrease in number too. 

But she keeps on prodding and never fails to pursue

Her dreams that had once filled her head. 

And never left her mind, the dreams that fed

Her imagination alight. 

And so she kept going on further into the dark night. 

Growing up a little everyday. 

Bolder and stronger. The dream that was once set far away 

On the horizon resembling a mirage. 

Almost too surreal. A little too large. 

But now it keeps coming nearer and closer. 

Until one day she stops. Suddenly. 

The dream was right there. A few feet away from her she could see. 

But she couldn’t go forward. No matter how hard she tried. 

For this time. There was no lane at all to walk on by. 

For it had been uprooted by one too many. 

Who had decided that this certainly wasn’t the lane for any 

Tiny or grown up girl out there. 

For what did they care ?

That she had worked all her life for that dream. 

What did they care ? That they were preventing her to achieve and reach

The one place where she was sure to succeed. 

They didn’t care. Not one bit. 

And so the lane didn’t exist. 

And like her many girls stood nearby. 

Tried to understand what was happening. Some started crying. 

But then they realised that if they had reached this far. 

They certainly wouldn’t let anyone else take it away from their hearts. 

So they took a giant leap. 

A leap of faith. 

Across the non existent lane. 

Some fell down but they did it for the cause. 

The others didn’t fail to remember their loss. 

They leapt up high and crossed the non existent lane. 

Put their foot down and began to make a change. 

Screamed at anyone who said otherwise. 

They would finally complete the lane. No more but’s or why’s. 

If a tiny girl could make it till there. 

She deserved to get across and make sure that this time. Every One Cared. 

PS. The title is a reference to the song by Twenty One Pilots. Lane Boy. And secondly I just had to write something on feminism. It seemed weird if I didn’t. But I didn’t want to do the usual rant because everyone, including me has already done it. So here is something different. I hope you like it. 

It’s Not Love Child. 

” I’m in love ” she declared with a highly dramatic sigh.

My child, you’ve only walked on this earth for fifteen years so take a while. 

To consider the magnitude of the sentence that you’ve just said. 

Needless to say, don’t get yourself too ahead. 

Of yourself, you’re only a baby now. 

Mom. Are you done ? If you didn’t hear me I just said I’m in Love. 

In love with the most wonderful person in the world. 

Mom. Stop laughing. Don’t dampen my emotions. Not when I’m confiding to you like a good girl. 

So who is he or she, may I ask ?

‘She’ is the most beautiful person with no mask

Of disguise or even a hint of falseness about her. 

I know I’m in love and I would die without her. 

Well does she know you exist ? Or is this far more complicated that that ?

” Of course she knows I exist ” the lovestruck girl replied with a pat. 

We have been dating and it’s been the Two Best Weeks of my life. 

I know when I grow up, I’m going to ask her to be my wife. 

Two weeks ! Heavens. Children are weird these days. 

Don’t you think that’s too quick ? Love isn’t a race. 

But it is for me. She makes my heart beat so quickly. 

I’ve never managed to fall for someone this deeply. 

We will be childhood lovers. This I know for sure. 

My love for her has no possible cure. 

Two weeks later. 

” I’m in love ” she declared with a highly dramatic sigh. 

He’s the most beautiful boy in the world and he is the apple of my eyes. 

PS. This poem is meant for young, stupid, silly me who thought I was in love when I was fifteen and had already decided on my life with him. And to all those children who post couple pictures on Instagram confessing their so called ‘Love’ to each other. 


That dress compliments your figure so well. 

Trailing along the sides as you twirl around me laughing. 

I catch myself not breathing as you take away my breath. 

The dress hugs your waist holding you tight in its embrace. 

As the shimmer in the belt brings out the sparkle in your eyes. 

Looking at you wear that dress is like looking at the skies, filled with one white cloud on a rainy day. 

Evidence that the rain will stop soon and the sky will be clear again. 

Looking at you in that dress is like looking at the world with spectacles for the first time. 

Everything seems brighther and clearer, new and lush. 

You seem to be in such a rush but oh that dress brings a hush,

On everyone’s lips as they see you walk by. 

Gracefully swaying your hips with that restful pretty smile. 

You in that dress makes me want to write poems to praise such beauty. 

Your freedom makes me want to make the preservation of this moment my obligation, my duty. 

But alas you step out of that dress and back into that dreadful ill fitting suit. 

Back into the cage to protect yourself from judgement and abuse. 

And I wait for the day, when you can rightfully walk out in that dress. 

Because you might be a man to everyone else. But to me you’ll always be that graceful lady in the pretty, pretty dress. 

PS. I’ve never mentioned the gender of the narrator in the poem, so broaden your perspective. It could be a guy it could be a girl. The choice is up to you my dear reader. 

Love In The Time Of YA. 

” We accept the love we think we deserve “

This quote always messed me up. Firstly I could not understand it. For me if I got someone to like me who was way better than me, then wouldn’t that be the ultimate jackpot. If I got Thor or Loki to love me, my life would be Marvellous (Geddit?)

So I sat down and thought about it for days. After all with me being a science student who has her boards in five months and CLAT in seven, I had all the time in the world. (Procrastination for the win) 

When I do not understand something, I usually break up the sentence into its smallest parts and understand each part. Let’s start with the easiest or maybe the most difficult word, Love. For me love always brings me back to when I was a small nerdy third standard child, who would briskly walk in the mall towards Crossword not wanting to seem too suspicious but lose my patience by the time I entered Crossword and run ( note the word ‘run’. I’m as unathletic as can be. I sprained my leg by simply walking. So when I’m running it has to be for something that really means a lot to me ) until I reached the Children’s section or more precisely the Enid Blyton section and choose a pile full of books and start reading. Me a thin scrawny girl with extremely oiled long plaits running through a bookstore until I reached paradise, now that ladies and gentlemen is true love.

 For all those of you who don’t read and can’t understand the joy of that eight year old girl ( I am silently judging you ) maybe this is something you’d be able to relate to. Love is that feeling that you have for your best friend when he agrees to give you a treat at Starbucks because you have only slept for three hours the previous night. Love is when your best friend sits with you and listens to you sobbing uncontrollably because a guy broke up with you ( it was all the guy’s fault ). Love is when you land up with the same person during every picnic and school trip and bus ride back because it’s fun with him and then miss him insanely when he isn’t there for the next trip because he changed schools. Love is when she complains to God about you but everyone in your class still knows that if the two of us sit together there won’t be an end to the noise created by just the two of us.In simple terms love is a weird feeling that makes you happy or maybe that’s eating Nutella or maybe it’s both. 

Now let’s move on to the next part of the phrase. ‘We think we deserve’. Do I deserve all the love that I wrote about before. Yes. Of course, because I’m equally a good friend to them as they are to me. Hopefully. Do I deserve the love that my parents bestow on me. Yes. I’m pretty sure. After all who wouldn’t be able to love a bundle of joy like me. Jk. But I am pretty sure they love me since I am one of those lucky children to have been born into a happy family. 

How do we calculate what we deserve and what we don’t ? We deserve something only when we have worked hard enough to receive it. The simplest way to explain this would be examinations. If I worked day and night burning the candle on both ends, then I deserve the 100 out of 100 that I get in that subject. However, if someone doesn’t study at all but writes all the answers on his handkerchief and gets caught during his boards ( true story ), then he pretty much deserves to get caught because that’s the stupidest thing he could have ever done. 

But my doubt is that when it comes to love, doesn’t it become more complicated. Don’t we all love people in different ways. It’s not possible to put an exact quantitative figure on how much one person loves you and see if you loved that person in the same exact manner. Maybe if we accepted the love we didn’t think we deserved, then we could feel insecure and guilty and that would hamper all possibilities of potential happiness. 

And lastly acceptance. I would have loved to change this into a topic about consent but then the blog would never end. Acceptance is easy to understand, hard to portray out in reality. Acceptance is not judging a person by their looks but by their personality. Understanding that everyone is different but equally important. Acceptance is that annoying ritual that you have with your relatives when they give you money but you have to pretend to refuse it but then eventually accept it anyway. It is up to you whether you want to accept something or not and now I think I finally know what the entire phrase means. *drumroll*

It simply means that it is up to you to decide who you want to love and all that matters is that they love you in that same unconditional manner. Everyone deserves love because you are worth the drama and trouble that accompanies love. Stephen Chbosky simply couldn’t say this in plain simple words could he ? This is why I don’t like YA novels. Makes me waste days trying to understand a simple phrase…*grumbles and fades away into the distance*

Can I Run Away. 

Let’s run away to a world far far away. The kind of land that creates stories which start with, Once upon a time, in a land far far away. Oh, What do you say ?

I mean that far away. Away from home.

Away from all my responsibilities. My addictions and my wants.

It will be fun. We could be complete strangers there. 

To the beginning of a new life. A life without care. 

But you tell me I can’t run away. That I have to stay. 

In this madness and mayhem ? No. 

My brain won’t accept that. Why should I stay. Surrounded by people who seem near but are yet so far away. 

Can I just go to this paradise I know. It must exist. It should. After all where do all the happy people live ?

They can’t possibly coexist with me in this same sad world. 

One more day. Just one more day. I’ll try to live. 

If it doesn’t work I’ll run away to that land from where once upon a time became a phrase to say. 

To that land over the rainbow that Dorothy envisioned. That land where Oprah gave free cars to everyone. 

Can I just please run away to that place where I don’t procrastinate. 

Where shadows don’t signify fear and shrouds simply means cloth and not death. 

Can I just go to the land where I can finally be the optimist my heart wants me to be. Where clichèd love poems are acceptable to me. 

Let me run away. Far far away. 

Away to the beautiful dreamy land of sleep. 

PS. I wrote this poem while doing physics numericals. So you can now understand how much I hate studying. And secondly I know most of you will take sleep metaphorically to be death. That’s an acceptable interpretation to but basically I love sleep a lot. Normal peaceful sleep. So I literally mean sleep. Although you can choose to interpret it in whatever way you want. 

Broken Dreams.

It was all a dream. 

But it never left her. 

The flame, the fire kept breaking her willpower. 

Failure and flaws was all she saw. 

The terrors left her feeling raw. 

She could find no place to hide. 

All vulnerable and broken up inside. 

It was all a dream

But it never left me. 

Her jet black eyes was as bewitching as she. 

All I wanted to do was call her mine. 

Listening to her talk, I knew I would love her for a lifetime. 

Her hair curled around her round face. 

She was a curved beauty who held everyone’s gaze. 

It was all just a thought 

But it never left her. 

Was that person really in love with her ? 

She has dark circles around her eyes and her sweet smile was just a disguise. 

She stood there gazing in front of a mirror. 

Contemplating about beauty and looking to see if she was its beholder. 

Maybe he could be the one who would help her. Maybe he was her saving grace. 

Her only protector. 

It was all just a thought 

But it never left me. 

She made me smile, just thinking about her made me go crazy. 

So I went up to the room and knocked on the door. 

Came in and screamt, for there she was lying on the floor. 

A note lay by her side, I ignored it. Ran and hugged her tight. 

Her pulse was as non-existent as she. 

Oh why. Oh why did she leave without me. 

It was all a dream

It never left her. 

So now all she could do was try to leave it. 

The failures and flaws that had ruled her life 

Was too much to bear and too much to hide. 

She did not need someone to protect her. 

She could be her own goddamn warrior. 

But this was proving to be too much for her. 

These dreams had destroyed her core. It shattered. 

Life was not worth living if all she did was think of her dreams. 

So she decided to become one with it. 

She decided to live in eternal sleep. 

Woe. Oh woe. The world had lost her. 

It had pressurised her too much and now it bore the banter. 

News channels and reporters talked about another suicide. 

But in my heart, I had lost a part of myself and I had tried 

I had asked her if she needed help. 

But she has said that she was fine, but now I no longer care. 
It’s truly only just a dream now. 

A beautiful dream all broken and bent.