Siblings, games and poetry.

Siblings, games and poetry.

This poem came out of bits and scraps that lay in my head. I cannot tell if it makes sense but maybe you can. Either way, I believe in every word I’ve written in this poem. They’re pieces of me, after all. I hope you like the poem! Do tell me in the comments section below. Enjoy and keep smiling 🙂


My sister believed that life is
like a buzz wire game.

Continue reading Siblings, games and poetry.

60 and in love.

60 and in love.

A dialogue/story-telling piece. I hope you like it! Give me prompts or tell me if you liked this or share your love story in the comments section! I’m looking forward to it. I hope you enjoy reading this! 🙂


“What does it feel like to be 60 and in love?”

“Routine and magical. We’ve only been together since I turned twenty-eight but I could swear even a day with him feels like a forever. You know how everyone wants a forever? He gave me forevers. Plural. I don’t know why I’m an English professor :P. When we went on our first date, he told me he was obsessed with Christmas, hot chocolate and love. On our fifth date, I found out why. Three more dates later, we had hot chocolate from the same cup. Thirty-two years later, we are madly in love. It’s very similar to what reading your favorite book for the fifth time feels like: you know all of the story and you know almost every word, but the ‘almost’ always means there are surprises.

Once, he wrote me a letter while we lived in the same house. It was addressed “to my nutty Belgian dark chocolate ice cream”. He posted it, and waited for it to come back. Throughout the letter, he spoke about me as if I was his favorite ice cream, his knight in shining armor, and his favorite season.

I try to think of a time when we weren’t together but I never can. That makes me very glad. I know I lived twenty-eight years without him but every time I think of some childhood memory, he’s always there in the frame. Hiding behind curtains for every time I think of home and sitting in cup holders for my family long drives. I think it’s because I’ve told him the story so many times that it no longer is only mine. Together, we’ve lived 120 years worth of memories and we know what every one of those felt like: like nutty Belgian dark chocolate ice cream. In other words, every memory, together or not, was yum. I should not be an English professor.”

“That sounds amazing. What do you need me for, then?”

“I’m 60. My forever can end any day. Who do you go to when you’re scared if not to a therapist?”


Previous post: It is okay.
Instagram: @myspirals

Give me prompts in the comment section. Also, tell me if you like the huge capital first letter.

Mud paint and memories.

Mud paint and memories.

Beth was an artist. On some days, she would take half-filled whiskey bottles and paint her boyfriend’s face on it. The skin would be dark and the nose small, the lips chapped and cheeks flushed. She would color every inch except the small circles in the eyes. She would leave that to the sun and whiskey. It had to resemble his eyes, after all. On other days, she would draw little hearts on her cheeks and let his compliments fill it with color and life. Her favorite piece of art didn’t involve her boyfriend at all, though.

The favorite piece of art was a painting she’d made when she was fourteen. Her dog had just passed away and painting was the only way she could cope with the loss of someone she’d lived with all her life. Her dog, Husky, was a military dog when it was young. Beth’s father had brought him home when he had to (for lack of a better word and to make the dog sound more human) retire. Beth was born a month after Husky came home. They were always fascinated by each other. She had started drawing because of him. On a summer morning when she was just four, she was playing with paper when Husky came running into the house. He ran all over the room, including a paper, with muddy feet and that was her first painting. Paw marks.

When he passed away, she drew his picture. She made the background bright red, just the way he would like it and could almost see him wagging his tail as he went crazy because of the color. She colored everything except his body. For the body, she used the mud from where Husky was buried to give his body its natural color. She had it framed and it still hangs on top of her bed. I’ll leave you with a happy memory, though. 

Ever since Beth was born, she had never had food alone. Husky would always be there to have half of it. He ate everything – ice creams, pie, fruits, socks. Everything.


Related: stay.
Instagram: @myspirals

Give me prompts in the comment section. Oh, and share this a lot, please?

The smell of trees.

The smell of trees.

We’ve spoken about Agastya before, in this post – A new haircut. This poem is based on a very particular line that I wrote for him in that post. I hope you enjoy this! Do comment, a lot. Literally.



“He missed his people and the way they smelled like different kinds of trees.”

– Utsav Raj

Home is a tricky concept.
I think of it as a wall,
with cracks running down its spine,
picture frames of memories
hanging on fragile nails,
and a very nostalgic touch to it.
You decide what the wallpaper is,
what it looks like
and what it smells like.

For me,
it looked like people
and smelled like trees.
My best friend
who I barely spoke to anymore,
stood on the far left.
If I ruffled his hair
I’d feel a breeze on my face
rushing away to hide
its European Larch scent,
fresh and distant.
A kid I used to teach
stood on the far right
and when I tickled him,
he would giggle endlessly.
He was sweet and smelled of honey
like Sassafras trees.
Dead center
was the girl I loved.
When I kissed her forehead,
and my nose played hide and seek
with her hair,
I caught a fragrance
and it reminded me strongly 
of cherry blossoms.

Home is a tricky concept,
and unless you leave,
you’ll never know what you’ll miss.


Instagram handle: @myspirals

Give me prompts in the comment section. Oh, and share this a lot, please?

Life update: one

Hey!

In the post – 365 – I announced that I’m going to post a life update on the 16th of every month. You can skip it altogether if you’re not interested in anything but poetry. Here’s my very first one. 


Well, I’m a dropout. I did start college back in July but barely went for my classes, because of which I was asked to opt for externals instead. I thought about it and discussed it with my family but we came to the conclusion that it’s best to drop a year and start again from July 2019. Why? Because I hope to have written my complete manuscript of the book I’m working on by then. Besides my book, I’m also working for Terribly Tiny Tales and Humans of Bombay as a writer. But that barely takes any time. I use the same posts I write for this blog for TTT and I go for taking stories for HoB every weekend.

I also hope to get much more work. If you’d like me to do a guest blog-post for you (paid) or collaborate, feel free to hit me up using the Contact page.

I haven’t exactly started my book yet because I’m waiting for the day I feel like starting it. I’m planning a trip to someplace in India to simulate a push towards that feeling. However, I have worked on the character sketches, outlines and a few other aspects of the book. 

There’s really not much to say here. This is pretty much my day. Writing, reading and using my phone. I live in Ahmedabad, a place that I’m not a big fan of, which basically means there’s nowhere I like to go in this city. Hopefully, that’ll change soon. Also, Christmas is coming soon and it happens to be my favorite season. We’re considering getting a tree this year, something we’ve never done before. Yay!

I’ll just spend it with my family because no friends (because Ahmedabad), so barely any gifts. But I guess it’ll be fun anyway.

So yeah, that is it so far. See you next month!