For the rains, for a bunch of emails, for a phone call, for people to arrive, waiting for a song, waiting for the right time, just waiting. 

Never one to be blessed with patience, this waiting game is driving me crazy. 


My little Pumpkin is 13 today and almost as tall as I am. I couldn’t lift her, even if I tried my best– but she lifts my spirits, with the twinkle of her eyes and thejokes on her lips.

Sure she amuses, amazes, and (very rarely) annoys but Pumpkin,  Pumpkin is precious. 

Buying books calms me down these days. As if just owning titles and having them line up on my shelves, on the windowsill, under the bed, in every bag, will be enough. My problem isn’t real estate though, it is something more worrying.

I read an essay today by Joan Didion that felt vaguely familiar. I had read that anthology only a couple of weeks ago and had completely forgotten. Am I not reading mindfully enough? Am I devouring pages and clearing memory as I move on? 

I feel like I am driving too fast to take in anything. Where the landmarks are a blur and the impressions last only a short while. 

I listened to a Rushdie interview today and he recited poems and literary anecdotes effortlessly, I couldn’t even remember a quote. 

What is the point for reading if you can’t remember? What is the point of travelling if you can’t recall? What is the point of memory if it only fails you? 

No Entry

If the quickest way is through a one-way street, occasionally you give into temptation and ignore a no-entry sign. A cop stops you and you plead ignorance. You get mad, not at being caught, but because you knew better. 

Listen to your better judgement. Always listen to your better judgement. #notetoself 


Friendships are strange and unexpected.

Some will be intense and then lie dormant. Some will be giving. Some will be quiet and others chattering nonstop. Some will show you the mirror and a few will be a warm, safe hug. Some will push your horizons while others will ground you. Some friendships will be abandoned, some resuscitated. Some will be time wasted, some will teach you lessons. 

A few special friendships, and this is rare, will bring you home. 

Let go 

Yesterday I tweeted, “Tell me when to let go?”, and two friends responded saying “Now.” It wasn’t like they knew the context– maybe both did, yet they said, let go now. When do you know it is the right time to let go? Of people, relationships, burdens of the past, and most crucially, hope. 

I am standing here, in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of plans and no agency. I’m waiting for an email that could potentially change my life, just like I am waiting for a phone call that may do the same. There are no new emails and the phone isn’t ringing either.

I have always lived without patience and even less subtlety, and like a friend said, wearing my heart on my sleeve. This not knowing is driving me crazy. This waiting, keeping my fingers crossed isn’t helping calm a restless mind. Watching friends move on with their lives, get married, settle done, bring up babies, makes me feel irresponsible somehow.

As I check my mail for the millionth time, telling myself the odds aren’t favourable, I can’t shake off a sense of hope. All I want to know is when to give up, when to let go, just so that I can move on. 

Borders / Boundaries

We went to the border recently, my uncle and I. It was a quiet evening drive and I saw the sun set over “enemy” land. Shimmering barbed wire, a fence that stretched beyond the range of visibility, anti-tank bund constructions, all of them conflicting with the serenity of dusk and the reckless chirping birds who flew this way and that, unaware of the sacrosanct border.

Political borders may seem so futile, when we see the person on the other side is only human, just like us. If only it were that simple. If only we weren’t our differences but our similarities. If only trauma didn’t tear us apart but brought us close.

In everyday life, there aren’t many borders but several boundaries to negotiate. What are the lines to not cross, how far can you go without danger or damage? We only say parts of what we mean and warfare is most often guerilla. We think, and we act, rarely mindful of collateral damage. There aren’t any safe zones, nor any bunkers. Invasions are brutal, and they’re permanent.  Few people have the courage to speak their mind, and they do so with a rare sensitivity to both sentiment and consequence. S, your clarity has left me in awe.

Borders can be lit all night long, but boundaries are tougher to protect.



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