Let’s live forever.

Let’s live forever.

“You know, I’d heard that if you fall in love with a poet, you’d live forever as poetry. But you haven’t written something for me or used metaphors for me ever since I said I loved you. Why is that?”

“I cannot believe you don’t remember why,” I giggled. “You remember how we partied the night we told each other we were in love? We were both six shots down but only you were drunk because of the alcohol. I’d willed myself to not be drunk because I wanted to remember every bit of that day. You asked me that night, after thirty-seven minutes of confessing your love, to never write a poem on you. I was still thinking of how you’d told me that I made your heartbeat the same way it beat when you were swimming – your favorite thing in the whole wide world, and how there were a hundred butterfly strokes in your stomach when I kissed you. But I managed to ask why you didn’t want me to write on you. You told me you didn’t want to be here after I was gone, even if as a happy love poem.”

“That does sound plausible. Let’s change that for a bit. I don’t want reasons why you love me. I want metaphors. Shoot for the stars, poet!” You laughed, six shots down again.

“Okay, poetry. You’re the eighth color of the rainbow. I know there are ‘supposedly’ only seven, but I think of the sky as the eighth color. Humans tend to limit things but poetry doesn’t believe in that. Like the beautiful sky, I see you everywhere. You’re my seventh shot of this tequila. I’m sure I’ll get drunk if I have it, just like I’m drunk on you all the time. Do you know the feeling you get when you go home at the end of the day and your puppy leaps onto you? You’re it. You’re my panipuri (an Indian tasty dish), novels, green t-shirt, my heart. You’re everything that makes me happy.”

“I think if I write a poem on you (it’ll be pretty bad but who cares?) and you write one on me, I won’t be here alone as a happy love poem. We’ll be the happy love poem. But you should know, you’re very cheesy.”

“and you’re very beautiful.” I kissed you.


Into poetry? – Soulmates?
Instagram – @myspirals

Strangers with Pizza boxes.

Strangers with Pizza boxes.

I hope you like this. Read, comment, enjoy, and smile! 🙂


If you look carefully
when walking on a busy street,
you’ll see rainbow kite strings around the neck
of every stranger.
Tales of broken reds,
ribbons of blue,
poems of brown eyes,
micro-tales of turquoise skies
and a thousand more colorful stories.
But only if you look carefully.
If you do not,
they’ll just be flesh and blood
and you’ll remain flesh and blood too.
Of course, eyes won’t do all the talking,
but do let them start
and then your lips can bring the stories to life.

I’ve tried.
That’s how the Pizza boy became my best-friend.
Pizza one,
he was just a man in red
with a beautiful smile.
Pizza two,
I saw his eyes
and the wrinkled galaxies his smile caused.
I saw how his shirt was half-tucked in,
very similar to mine
and he had sports shoes on.
Pizza three,
He told me his favorite sport
and I told him I wrote poetry.
Together, we gave football a human story.
The ball that was of no man
and no fields.
The ball that fell in love with the net.
Together, we laughed at the horrible story.

I guess you get the idea.
See, look, converse, connect.


Instagram: @myspirals
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Not all dates are the same.

Not all dates are the same.

Before you start reading, two translations you might need – ‘baba’ means father and ‘ammi’ means mother. I hope you like this


It’s very tough to remember how a conversation played out when it has been a few years and you’ve not even thought about it once. Luckily for me, I had a map that helped me remember every important detail. This map was made out of lyrics and tunes that we sang together. The first song was an instrumental that went on for about six minutes. We spent those minutes just looking and trying to draw mental sketches of each other Continue reading Not all dates are the same.

In conversation with: God

In conversation with: God

G: “So, do you have any questions for me?”

Me: “Oh, many.”

God: “Ask.”

Me: “I hear you’re pitching a product in the business meeting. What’s it called?”

G: “Life.”

Me: “Right. How many other gods are there in the meeting with you?”

God: “I don’t know. It’s my first day, too. Maybe it’s just me, maybe there are tens of thousands more.”

Me: “I heard rumors that your product was found faulty in the testing process. Had many mistakes, was known to be unfair and unpredictable.  Why such shitty management?”

G: “Umm.. That was actually on purpose. I can’t tell you the reason, though. You want to hear a crazy fact?”

Me: “Yeah?”

God: “That is how I came up with the tagline! Life isn’t fair. Isn’t that hilarious?”

Me: “Not really. Anyway, here I go. Brace yourself. Why do you give reasons to be grateful to half the world and reasons to hate you to the other half? You give birth to rebellion and jealousy like that’s your favorite pastime. Watch buildings burn down and called history. You give me tequila shots as sleeping pills while a kid in Syria gets actual gun wounds. You give us battles and you give us battle scars. Why do you make my best friend gay and then stop him from talking to the guy he has a crush on, who sits all the way in the back of the class? You give that rich kid across the street Adidas and the poor mother that begs at the kid’s door, stolen sandals. What is your favorite pastime?”

G: “Finding and solving glitches in my product. But I have a feeling you think I am not doing a very thorough job at it.”

Me: “Trying my best to make it obvious. Sometimes, I feel like you are a novel and we, a divided fandom wondering, discussing, arguing about your existence. Sometimes, you seem like a teacher who loves telling kids that she’ll take surprise tests, but never really does. You seem to be a babysitter who is being paid for one thing, but is busy doing another. You’re an artist, no doubt. You made Christmas trees and hot chocolate. But sometimes you seem like you’re an artist gone rogue bringing to life weird things that shouldn’t be. Are you angry because you’re just getting exposure instead of money?”

God: “I’m sort of late for my meeting. It was nice talking to you!”


Instagram handle: @myspirals
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I’ve written this and so this is in no way intended to spark a debate between believers and atheists. Give me prompts in the comment section below and share if you liked this!

Family.

So every once in a while, I write something about my life in order to tell you what makes me an infinity, and to hear about what makes you an infinity. Tell me about your family!


“Ohana means family. Family means no one gets left behind or forgotten.” – Lilo and Stich

When god made man, or whosoever did, the man asked for someone who’d always be on his side. That’s when god (or whosoever) made more men and women, and called it a family. My family is a little bizarre, as probably all of ours are. Some of my best memories with my father, my mother and my sister are these. Here is a small and brief glimpse into my family.

  1.  It was a summer morning, about two months after I had given my Tenth grade finals. My results were up on the internet at about four in the morning, and I was sweating rivers as I checked. My result was pretty good, and so I let out a sigh of relief as I slowly went to my parents room to tell them the result. My dad was still asleep, and so I gently woke him up and told him that the results were here. He was still lying on the bed as he waited for me to tell him my score. When I did, he sat up and gave me one of the tightest and warmest hugs ever as he smiled.
  2. When you’ve lived with your mother was long enough, you’ll actually see everything falling apart if she goes away for a few days. Me, my sister and my father did. My mom had gone for a week to her parents place, and we caused chaos. We had oats and cornflakes for three consecutive meals almost every day. No school, so we made sure the house was a mess. When she did come back, it was the best thing ever. It was as if you’d come out of the water of the swimming pool after a long game of “Let’s see who can hold their breath for the longest.” It was like finding the name of the song that had you worried sick because you couldn’t remember the name.
  3. From hiding test papers, to walking down paths covered in broken twigs, golden leaves and possible dangers, my sister has been my partner-in-crime. I don’t have one favorite memory with her because I’ve been with her for almost eighteen years now and every day with her is still special. Here’s one though. When I was really young and hardly knew how to swim, me and my family went for swimming. Despite being on the shallow side of the pool, I lost my footing and thought I was drowning. My sister, who happened to see this, was laughing at me instead of helping me. That bitch.

You don’t get to choose your family, but I am glad to have the family that I have. Maybe someday I’ll talk about how crazy they are. Until then.

Bless this family. ∞
Adieu.


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Instagram handle: @myspirals

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