Just another option..

Someday while going through old albums, she would point out at a picture and ask him, ‘’who is she?’’. After a long pause when he would have gone through those moments. Having relived those memories, the time spent together, the time they thought would last till eternity, he would gather his senses to face her.

A long time had elapsed and now he had finally stopped looking for traces of her everywhere, in every girl he saw, except in the one sitting right next to him at that very moment. He finally struggled to remember tiny details of her, wondering how is it possible for him to not remember those things which he once adored about her. Straining his eyes and his brain to clear that blurred image of hers,which earlier appeared in his mind the moment he closed his eyes.


Now in a bid to remember, he again closed his eyes only to see the image of his partner who was sitting next to him float before him. He opened his eyes, looked at her, took a long, deep breath. Then glancing at the image on the screen and gathering her in his arms, he said-‘Oh! she, she was just an option..just another option...

Dear him #1

Dear him, 

This is not a love letter.
There are no words that are strong enough to hold the weight of all the things I feel for you.
This is a minuscule display, rather a trivial attempt to chronicle the thoughts that pour out my head. 

I tried to picture a life without you for the past 8 months and I couldn't. 

I read some where, that it takes an average human 7 minutes to fall asleep. And so I try to think of exactly 7 things, before I go to bed. But thinking about you and me needs more time, because 7 minutes, 7 hours, 7 months, it's all too little. I need 7 lifetimes, and I promise you just that. I haven't slept properly in 10 months (that's how long I've known you) but somehow, I don't mind it. At all.

We're both weird people who refuse to shut up, but when we're together, the world finally seems silent. I think I like the silence more than I like the sound of all the thoughts in my head that just refuse to leave. I never thought I'd say this, but thank you for giving me silence

You gave me something no human is capable of giving anyone else- you gave the strength of the stars before you left and the will to keep living regardless of how quickly the world around me is turning to dust. To run away. Not away from life, away from all that doesn't make it better. 

I'm glad we have so many photos together because one day, when my mind stops functioning and I need to remind myself who you are to me, I'll pick out prints from my memory box and stick them on every wall so that my world surrounds me.

Love always.

To the people who question the very purpose of their existence, like I do.

Here’s to the ones who are not brilliant. Here’s to the people who question the very purpose of their existence, like I do. To the ones who feel like they do not belong, to the ones who feel they were born in the wrong century, in the wrong galaxy. Those who are full of insecurities, worries, doubts and fears. Those who feel crippled with paranoia and trapped in a meat coated skeleton.
There are people like you and me, equally messed up, their souls equally complex and bruised.

They too spend Sunday afternoons gazing at clear blue skies, trying to connect to their real self, looking for something to free them, to save them, waiting for miracles while sipping coffee.
These people too are lost like you and me, their minds wandering aimlessly through forests and alleys, and places and countries,hoping to make sense of their own fucked up existence, hoping to be significant.

Trying desperately to love themselves with the self love they are told is the only cure, but failing miserably, horribly.
So, on those evenings when your body and soul seem like two separate entities, when you feel exiled from the home within your own heart. Know,I have been there too and it will be okay, it will get better.

It has to, right?

Credits: Kopal

Memory #1

The first memory I have of being incredibly sad is from when I was 9 and I was out with my friends trick-or-treating when I was told to wait in the park for five minutes, after which they’d come back to me. 

I waited an hour before I realised that they weren’t coming back. Or before I convinced myself they’d forgotten me. Either way, I was crying. Hysterically. Because for the first time in my life, I’d see someone hurting me. Purposely.

I did this to myself, I let you in and when you left, nothing mattered anymore. I broke my own heart loving you. Now, it's 3 in the morning and I love you more than I did in December.

Letting go

Then there are people like me, who can never let go. That is why we look for things and people that will always stay - no matter how many storms pass; no matter how many times we sink.
But slowly we learn that people go. There are no constants. 

It is just a theory.  People just like things, break. It took me 23 years to learn that.
So I made a jar of broken things. I collect everything that is broken but important to me, in it. Maybe, I ‘ve finally found a way of saving things that matter to me.
I wish I had a jar of broken people too.

Golden Flower

Picture Credits ; Aditya Saxena

I try to count the petals
Before you pull them apart
Flowers lose their heads
As they wager for my heart

Every flower is a gamble
Every petal is a thought
Will this one say I love you?
Or will it say I love you not?

Listen to the petals
They argue when they talk
One will say I love you
And the next I love you not

Some petals are poison
Every other is a lie
My love for you is something
A flower cannot decide

I picked you a golden flower
Whose petals argue not
One petal says I love you
And the next one says a lot

Woman on a mission.

I am going to start maintaining a diary, for the first time since ten years. I had burned all my diaries some time back, and now I feel that I lost so many memories. I have to start again, because I can’t take my memorizing powers for granted anymore. I am scared of forgetting the beautiful moments I have in my day, or the even the sad/testing moments, the beautiful people who couldn’t stay, and the ones who did. I need to document myself growing as a person. I don’t want my memories fade into oblivion while I am alive. I don’t want to be able to not recall a memory to recite it to my kids or my grandchildren to give an important life lesson, validation or even a laugh.

Maybe, just maybe someone might find this years after my death and maybe, just maybe find my life interesting or any other good adjective. And if afterlife exists, agh my soul will be the happiest soul alive to see someone think about a life that used to be mine. Even if I am sent to hell, that still might create a heaven in my mindscape.

What suddenly lead to this after ten years? Well, a person with an angelic voice asked me-“What if you only think I am a figment of your imagination, but in reality you’re the one who actually doesn’t exist. Or maybe this whole conversation is just happening in my head or maybe we’re just both dead.” This single text created a cloud of questions in my head.

So yes, for the first time in ten years I am going to start maintaining a diary and not burn it. I will be doing this out of fear, and I am glad I fear it.

About Me.

So here it is, my first ever blog post. This isn’t, however, my first ever introduction.

I could say that my name is Dia, that I live in Mumbai, that I have a golden retriever named Lucky, that I have a mild addiction to chocolate and a not-so mild addiction to books. I could say that.

That wouldn’t be a very good introduction, though.

Sure, it tells you all the things you could ever really need to know about me, so I suppose that it is a good introduction, by those standards.

It doesn’t, however, say the things I want it to say, so it’s not a good introduction.

It would be a good introduction if I wrote about the time I stayed up till five in the morning just to be reassured by a new friend that it’s okay to be scared sometimes.

It would be a good introduction if I wrote about the time I smiled at somebody sitting alone, because I know how much a smile helps when you’re lonely.

It would be a good introduction if I wrote about the time when I spent a whole half hour just gathering up the courage to compliment a complete stranger’s hair.

It would be a good introduction if I wrote about all the times when sleep seems better than consciousness.

It would be a good introduction if I wrote about he OCD issues that I struggle with.

It would be a good introduction if I told you who I am, not what I seem to be.

There aren’t enough words to tell you who I am, though, because even now, while writing this, I’m
discovering new things about what it means to be me.

I may never manage a good introduction for myself.

But, well, I can try.