Mumbai 1.0

Mumbai 1.0

This is part one of a Mumbai series that I’ve planned. This one is to maybe help you see Mumbai through my eyes. The next part will be a conversation I had with somebody from Mumbai and their story. Do let me know in the comments section if you’d like that, and tell me stories about your city.


I’d heard about Mumbai a lot of times – about how the city never slept, about how it was filled with writers, singers, and actors and even the trees were musicians. There were no mornings, just late nights and super late nights. In the afternoon, the city buzzed constantly like an alarm clock. I’d heard about the insane traffic and crazy streets, about the gullies and the people who lived there. I stayed for seven days in this foreign city that had always sounded like home.

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A different time.

A different time.

A few things before you start reading. a) This is not like most of my other posts but I’m hoping you still like it just as much, b) the story is based in a different world (which you can figure out yourself but just in case), c) comment and tell me about your happy times. Enjoy!


Hora was a different twenty-year-old. Of course, she was exactly what no one wanted her to be – the creative kid. She lived in a weird city where everyone had latin names and strict destinies. It was believed that it was important to only do what was expected of you to set examples for other worlds, if there were any. Her name was latin for Time and she was a writer.

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Old metaphors for love.

Old metaphors for love.

Happy Valentine! I hope you’re having a great day! I don’t have much to say except that this poem is based on one of the oldest metaphors for love – beaches (or oceans or water, whatever it is). I came up with it while talking to a close friend and I decided that today would be the right day to post it. I hope you like this poem! Comment a lot? (Tell me anything about love)


Beaches have been metaphors for love
for the longest time.

In 2008, I was a scarecrow
standing at the edge of the world
where the sand and the water conversed for days.
With my arms spread wide, I would stand there
and let the wind run around me
in circles, and we would giggle together
at the horrible ways the sand
would flirt with the water.
Once, the sand recited lines
from John Legend’s ‘All of me’ –
“My head’s under water,
but I’m breathing fine.”

and it was hard to tell if the water was blushing
or if it was just 6 pm.

Continue reading Old metaphors for love.

Cinderella’s shoes.

Cinderella’s shoes.

“Upon the palms of my hand, I have written your name.”  – Isaiah 49:16

Never had he felt the warmth of her fingers before. He had anticipated it to be like the warm sun on a cold morning, something that would make him shiver and smile. He had imagined it to be like hot coffee or the softest quilt, or the rush of caffeine in his veins, and pictured it to be normal, with a shade of love. It was nothing like it.

Late at night that first day, as they looked at each other, too tired to say anything, he touched her face. His fingers trailed on her skin, as he touched her cheeks. They were cold and he would want it no other way. He held her face and looked at her as shivers ran through him. And then she touched his face. Her fingers trailed on his skin. They were cold and he would want it no other way. Everything inside him froze, except where she held him. He felt no rush of blood, and he could feel her fingers getting colder. And he liked it. It was like walking toward the sunset.

He placed his hand on top of hers, and let the fingers intertwine. They fit like puzzle pieces. The cold was slowly ebbing away. The warmth was returning to their fingers, their cheeks were getting redder, and their eyes were locked onto each other. It was 3:04 A.M. and he remembered something. “Nothing good happens after 2 A.M.” And he knew he was screwed. That made him happy.

They say hands are like Cinderella’s shoes – magical.
They say hands are what makes tomorrows.

With her hand in mine, I think I had more than just tomorrows. This wasn’t normal, with a shade of love. This was love, with a shade of insanity. The sun was setting.

“People fall in love in mysterious ways. Maybe just the touch of a hand.” – Ed Sheeran


Instagram: @myspirals
Related post : Midnight.

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The best men can be.

The best men can be.

So, Gillette came up with an advertisement with the intentions of making us better men. It was gender-oriented and asked us, men, to hold other men accountable for their actions. A great move and a beautiful video. But the comments section was flooded with hurt egos of toxic masculinity. Terribly Tiny Tales brought this to my attention, and I’m bringing it to yours. (I’ve never done this before, but I’ll embed the advertisement at the very end of this post. Do watch.)


Can I tell you some stories?

I had a friend named Akbar. We were best friends when I was in fifth grade and he told me about all kinds of things that happened in his life. He was five years older to me. One day, he told me about how his father beat his mother black and blue. Akbar cried as he told me about his mother’s bruised elbows but we didn’t talk for too long about it. I met his mother a week after that and she wore full sleeves all day. Akbar trusted me with his stories and I trusted him when he said he would become a real man. When he told me about his father, he made me promise that I won’t become a coward like his father.

Continue reading The best men can be.