Music has always been an exhilarating experience for me.

Like any other human, I guess I discovered music at the prime of my teens. During that time, Linkin Park, Green Day and Evanescence were my go to musicians. From then on, music has become my salvation and my second preference when it comes to communicating. My music library has evolved and grown. At present, I have over 1800-2000 artists on my hard disk; some heard of by everyone in the world, some barely discovered.

I cannot do without music. It is my lifeblood. Although, just as it has saved me on numerous occasions, it has also caused ache. Simply because, in times of great emotional turmoil, it has been too relatable and I, wanting to wallow in my masochism, would cut off from it. As mentioned before, I have been obsessively possessive about my music collection, sharing it with a chosen few. Only lately have I started letting others into my coveted world, letting them experience the same emotions I did upon hearing the tunes I surround myself with.

Music also plays a great role in my life, when it comes to love. I don’t know when or how I became a hapless romantic but I did. I hail love as the most beautiful gift and treasure of all. So when love fails to conquer, I mourn it. I rejoice with those who have found love and root for their success. I consider any and all relationships sacred and place them before anything else. Needless to say, in this selfish world, it has been taken advantage of and used ruthlessly, even mocked. Music has clasped hands with this side of me ever since they stumbled upon each other. The lesson though that I learnt from being as I was, is this: As beautiful as love maybe, it is not for everyone. Music helped deal with this painful truth.

A dear friend once told me, that maybe some of us were meant to love selflessly, quietly taking in the pinch that comes with it when people do not value or honour what we give; ravenously consuming what we offer until they find someone else to feed off. As harsh as it maybe, we might never feel this unrequited, infinite love ourselves.

Music, then taught me to let go. I may not be that girl anymore, who believed in love so fiercely, who had hope in love, always. I may now be the girl who has sworn never to listen or follow her heart. It doesn’t mean though that music has let go. Somehow, even in this transition, I have found music that grounds me.

Cynthia Bonitz wrote something that resonated with me. This playlist is a representation of this excerpt.

I'm not going to ask you to stay. I'm not going to show up at the airport like heart-wrecked girls do in the movies, yelling for your name, frantic to tell you everything I never said.
But the truth is - I am devastated, and you will never know that. Because I will never tell you. I say I'm proud of you, excited for all you'll see. That is not a lie. I am. I just wish that it hadn't ended like this. I wish we had more time. 
All I can do is watch you go. All I can do is swallow the break in my soul, take it like resilient girls do, and pretend that my world isn't sinking. "You have to fight for what you want," everyone says to me. But so much time has gone by. I don't really know what to do anymore. I've gotten really great at pretending that I don't miss you, that I don't care.
But that's just life and how it goes, right? You'll go and this chapter will finish and we'll just become words to each other, of what was and what will never be. And please, don't worry about saying anything. You really don't have to. Promise me you won't.
I'd rather have our last words be the silence of that night that we're not supposed to talk about. The night I shouldn't have stayed. The night I turned around anyway and caught you looking at me like no has ever looked at me - even you, back then.
I will never get over that. Ever. If I was haunted before, I am haunted now. And I wish so badly you could know.
Maybe I'll never understand. Or maybe I do already. Either way, I just wish it was enough. Do you know what I mean? Enough to stay. Enough to hear you tell me that it all meant something.
But I will never ask. I will never know.

There is a Spanish word, Querencia. It means, a place from which one’s strength is drawn, where one feels at home; the place where you are your most authentic self.

The partnership of music and lost love is the Querencia in my life. Love is the lie we tell ourselves and music is the one that breathes life into it, making it real, seemingly making it true.

Click on the image below to understand this union better.

Hope you guys enjoy!



Much awaited reunion

I think I would have killed myself if I had been to Mumbai and not visited one of my dearest friends from University.

Aakriti and I clicked with each other on the first college trip we took together and since then, corridor chats, sarcasm and restaurants were never quite the same. From then on, I have never not called her my Iron Butterfly. Why? Well because the woman is sheer brilliance not just because her wit has me in splits but also because of the way she cherishes her friends and their quirks. Her talents leave me speechless as does her gentle yet firm understanding of my personality. Her strength is inspiring as is her determination and confidence. She knows how to pick me up and well…at times let me sink just because she knows I need to drown before I learn to save myself. She kept me distracted when I got my second tattoo, held my hand each time Simba (my dog) fell terribly sick and made sure, I didn’t lose my love for poetry.

We had a tradition while we were in University. Every other weekend, after we would be done with classes, we would head to the back lawns, sit on one of the rusty benches and have conversations that seemed endless. Mind you, all of them were heavily doused in sarcasm. It’s a thing we do, okay? We would also head out to try different restaurants. Aakriti being the food connoisseur, would choose the restaurant and we would have a gala time, enjoying sumptuous food and of course, alcohol.

Needless to say, reuniting with her, had us following all these to the letter. Meeting her, I realised, just how much I had missed her. From the moment we sat down, having hugged each other for quite some time, the craziness kicked in. Food and alcohol came and went, hours passed by and we didn’t realise, not once. From careers to friends to reminiscing about old times and discussing the future apprehensively, books to music to new tattoos, we chatted about it all.

As Aakriti put it, “So what, yes we were in a long distance friendship, but I never had to doubt or second guess the nature of our friendship. I always knew you were there, somewhere, but there, just as I knew I was there. We didn’t have to text or talk all the time, but we always knew what was going on and we knew that when that day would come, when we’d meet again, we’d pick up right where we left off. So I’ve never been concerned.”

Where and what did we munch on during this much longed for reunion?

Well, we met at Jamjar, a place extremely close to where we both were living. We met up for lunch and I gorged on food like a monster, after way too long a time. I think it had a little to do with four-five (?) double Jack Daniels I had downed, but I am not too sure.

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The interior of Jamjar

For starters, we decided on Melted Queso and Crispy Bacon Fries along with a plate of Butter, Chilli Garlic Prawns. Once we had polished them off, we asked for our mains. I decided to try something different instead of always zooming in on the Pastas. While Aakriti went for Fresh basil pesto spaghetti with mushrooms and bell peppers, I chose the Mushroom and spinach stuffed Chicken. I was close to licking my plate clean, the food was so delicious. Once we were done with the mains, we decided to pamper ourselves with dessert, although it was more to do with balancing out the alcohol we were consuming so very rapidly. Aakriti convinced me into trying the Spiced poached Pear and Brownie Sundae. It was divine. Let’s just keep it at that.

Also, as a side note, each time my drink arrived, for some weird reason, I would confuse the stirrer for a straw. Each time and each time, Aakriti found this hilarious and had to keep aside her freshly brewed beer, since she was too busy laughing…at me.

With bellies full and minds a little woozy, we decided to meet up again, over the weekend, when Aakriti would be reciting poetry at an art exhibition. I think I volunteered to attend even before she invited me. What can I say, I love the woman’s poetry.

If you wish to check out her poetry and delicious recipes, (another feather in her cap) check out her blog here !


Sillage is a French word that translates to the scent that lingers in the air, the trail left in water, the impression left in space after someone or something has been and gone; the trace of someone’s perfume.

If you’re feeling empty, are immersed in memories, feel a pain that can only be called tidal or feel hollow no matter the thought or emotion, this playlist can hopefully connect with you.

To give it a listen, click the image below.


Inked Sightseeing

With a hangover that had us groaning as we got out of bed, Rushil and I geared up for the day. Both of us were thrumming with energy though, despite the alcohol from the night before doing its hardest to slow us.

One of my intentions, having arrived in Mumbai, was to get inked. There was a need rather than a want and there was also a craving for change. Desperation had been eating at me for days to shed the old, leave behind the memories and sensations, forget the hopes and start afresh. Back when I was in University, this usually involved me getting pierced or colouring my hair, etc. Either way, it usually had to do with me, well, doing something to myself. In my head, this was always my way of establishing a new lifestyle.

As mentioned before, I have suffered from dysthymia for quite some time now. Having relapsed recently and slipped back into depression after keeping it at bay for almost a year, had me fighting for ‘something new’. I stumbled across the perfect image and after that, I was itching for it to be on my skin, permanently.

I got it done on my ribs. Many may wonder why I got it done there. Any one who has any idea about tattoos, knows, that the rib cage is one of the MOST painful places to get inked. The masochist in me chose that spot for that very reason. To get away from the anguish, my twisted thinking had me believing very firmly, that even if it was for just half an hour, the pain from the tattoo on the rib cage would distract me from the pain I was dealing with every minute, emotionally and mentally.

On some level, it did and on some level, it failed.

Nonetheless, I now have my third tattoo spanning across four ribs. Have fun trying to figure out what it symbolises !

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My tattoo involving three different symbols.

While I was laying on my side, nails digging into the leather and face, dealing with the excruciating pain, Rushil too was having her back inked. She was sealing the deal on a previous tattoo and adding the final touches to it, to make it complete. The minute she got done with hers, she rushed to me, her hands voluntarily being impaled by my nails as she tried to distract me from the sensation of a needle pricking me way too many times, carving my bone while it was at it.

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Rushil’s tattoo

After both our tattoos were done, we headed out for lunch. Rushil took me to SodaBottleOpenerWala, a Parsi restaurant. The cuisine was delicious and I loved the cuisine!

I left it to Rushil to choose the food for us. I was too busy trying to breathe through the pain. Rushil did a brilliant job with the choice of food. She always looks like such a stunner, but something about the restaurant made her look like a vision and I couldn’t help but capture her.

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We had the Chicken Sanju Baba, which was the Sunday special. Alongside that, we had Rotlis and Mutton Berry Pulao. The portions were pretty big and I failed to finish my share. I had to push my plate away from me with a very heavy heart.

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The lunch was made a tad bit awkward when my tattoo started bleeding. People all round had such quizzical looks on their face. I guess it is warranted when you are lifting your top up in public every few minutes, dabbing away with a tissue that is turning darker from blood with every pat.

Post lunch, we headed to the centre of Mumbai, where I, in the words of Rushil, acted like a complete tourist, snapping pictures of everything I saw. We visited Taj Palace and The Gateway of India. The rains did not help neither did wearing flats.

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From there, Rushil dragged me to Colaba Causeway for shopping. In my head, my tattoo was a big and very expensive gift to myself, so indulging in some more did not feel right. We window shopped for a bit and then headed to Kala Ghoda, a cafe that exudes serenity and calm; a place where you can go by yourself, discover, and let your creativity flow.

We went for an Iced Latte, Cold Coffee with Ice Cream and Muti Grain Bread with Hummus. The entire time spent there was so incredibly relaxing. There was no urge to keep up a conversation. One could be in their own thoughts and yet still enjoy the company around them.

We then headed back home, extremely exhausted. I think both of us even dozed off in the cab ride home!

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Back home, I think I woke up our neighbours. We had to clean our tattoos and taking off the tape concealing our tattoos reignited the pain that had numbed through the day. My screams had me demanding or rather begging Rushil to let the tape be, making feeble attempts at convincing her that the tattoo could be cleaned later on…maybe never. We all know who won that argument!

Doesn’t matter though. The pain was so worth it.


P.S : I pride myself on having an extremely high threshold for pain. The description of pain from getting my bones inked is truly not an exaggeration. If you’re planning on getting inked there, think twice and go drunk if you can!

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Hi Mumbai!

Recently, struggling to cope with reality, anxiousness to get away, loss of identity and a complete lack of will, had me cooped up in my bedroom for days on end.

That was until my gem of a best friend decided to step in. Before I dive into the details, I feel it necessary to give a brief sketch as to who this wonderful human being is and what she means to me.

I first met Rushil at Alliance Française, where we both lost any chance we had of learning French, when we began crushing over our super cute French teacher. Those classes sealed the deal and our friendship since then, has been one of the bright lights in my life. She is my anchor, my (at times undesired) dose of brutal honesty and my constant support and belief. There has been not one time, when she has been wrong or misguided by her gut instinct when it comes to me, my decisions/choices and the people I surround myself with. Her ambitious and brilliant mind, fascinating creativity and amazing talent with a camera, are few of the reasons why I am so incredibly proud of her.

Moving on from the love dose…

Rushil coaxed me into flying out to see her and experience Mumbai for a bit. Despite being a military brat and having the advantage of getting to travel the country, thanks to the many places my father was posted to, somehow Mumbai evaded me and I never quite got the chance to experience the city.

Having arrived and confused a domestic airport for an international one, Rushil and I reunited after three long years. The spark that first connected us, is still there and we’ve picked up where we left off, as though these three years never really happened.

So how was my first night in Mumbai?

Well, here’s how it went…

  • Drank some VERY expensive wine out of mason jars.
  • Gorged on pizza that was all kinds of meat heaven.
  • Clicked our first ever polaroid


  • Poured our hearts out (yes there were tears, a lot of tears) in the middle of the night while we sat on the roof, listening to the waves of the sea.
  • Walked extremely unsteadily on the streets as it poured cats and dogs, hunting for more alcohol as one bottle apparently, was not enough.
  • Drunk dialled people, something that is ALWAYS a bad idea.
  • Drank some more expensive wine.
  • Ate some more heavenly pizza.

Ultimately, we passed out. Or at least I did. Rushil usually can’t sleep when she’s THAT drunk.

As can be expected, we woke up with raging hangovers, the effects of which are still being felt…

We have become…?

Maybe it was when I lay curled up, my head nestled in your lap, the light of the flickering candle casting shadows on the wall. Or perhaps, it was when I blinked away tears furiously, wishing I could stop time and preserve the words escaping your lips, the beauty of which seem to be nothing but lullabies every night.

Either way, this playlist was meant for you, for us and for the sunrises we are still to witness together.

Together, we have become, so much more.

To honour every thought and every wish, here’s a playlist I felt, seemed apt. Click the image below and I hope it connects with everyone on some level or the other.

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Sunny Brighton

Before I start gushing about the amazing time I had in Brighton, let me just put it out there that my travel buddy and I are starting to make a habit out of cutting it very close when it comes to boarding trains. As exciting as it is, to race against time and make it to the station with minutes to spare, I’m really hoping, this trend of ours, ends soon.

Unsurprisingly, Arv and I made it just in the nick of time when it came to boarding the train. An empty carriage and hushed conversations helped calm our pounding heartbeats as we sat down, sweaty and out of breath. Time passed peacefully and within an hour, our train was pulling into Brighton station. From there, a quick two minute journey had us arriving at Hove where Arv’s absolutely adorable grandmother was kind enough to be our host during our time there.

Being utterly oblivious at times, I was so busy pushing my ticket into the machine to get the doors to open, that I did not notice Helen waiting for us until I saw Arv hunched over, enveloping her in his arms. Not having met Helen before didn’t seem at all awkward or weird, she made me feel so welcome, I couldn’t stop smiling!

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Arv, who sort of looks like Wolverine here and his Nana, Helen.

She was such a bundle of positivity, energy and love, I felt at home immediately. She drove us to her place where we had amazingly healthy food along with delicious Camomile tea although we had been warned beforehand by her that cooking food was not her forte and she did not enjoy it one bit!

One of the many things I enjoyed about my time with Helen included listening to her life travels and her interactions with people. Besides this, her house finally fulfilled and brought to life, my long harboured imagination of what a proper British house looked like, thanks to the countless books I read, written by Enid Blyton. She is also one of the coolest women I have ever come across. I absolutely adored her joie de vivre when we decided on a selfie. To be perfectly honest, she looked the most glamorous out of all of us in it!

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With the sun beaming down on us, my friend and I headed out to Brighton Pier having said goodbye to Helen and having planned a quick meet up before our train back to London. Before all this happened though, I got to witness Arv and Helen scrutinising maps of Brighton. This was because despite living in a world of gizmos and gadgets, ours failed us. Between Arv and me, we had three mobiles, all of which refused to function and decided to die due to lack of battery.

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While walking along the beach, I got to witness buskers of immense talent entertaining the multitudes of people who had stepped out of their houses to enjoy the sun and take a dip in the sea. With the sea water glimmering, ice cream cones everywhere and squeals of delight echoing from all sides, we approached Brighton Pier with a lot of excitement.

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Street buskers; Three men sitting absolutely still, balanced on soft balls held in one hand.

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As Meredith Grey once said, ‘The carousel never stops turning.’

Having entered Brighton Pier, the competitive gamers in my friend and me awakened and we headed to the arcade with steely determination. Maybe it was because I was still exhausted from work or it just wasn’t my day, I lost every single game to my friend. For someone as competitive as me, this was quite a heavy blow and my friend didn’t make things easier. It took all my will power not to push him over the railing of the pier as punishment for reminding me of my defeat, every single chance he got.

We took a break from the games from time to time, stepping out to enjoy the salty air and the sound of crashing waves, drowned by the laughter that flooded me from everywhere.

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We then headed to Palm Court for lunch since Arv was in the mood for Fish and Chips. For someone as healthy as him, it was quite a surprise for me to witness him cleaning up a gigantic plate of deep fried fish and fries or as the British like to call it, chips. I decided on Mashed Potatoes with a Pie made out of mackerel, shrimps, peas and salmon. It was delicious but for someone like me who is very picky about her sea food, it was quite…fishy.

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We then walked around the Pavilion, deciding against entering it, wishing to enjoy the weather rather than feeling jealous strolling through the pleasure palace for George IV. The pavilion was beautiful though. With a wonderful combination of Indian and Oriental architecture and a very picturesque location, the pavilion is something everyone headed to Brighton must visit even if, like us, you decide against entering it.

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With time running out, we decided to walk towards the station and enjoy whatever Brighton had to offer on our way to it. Our walk was quite the enjoyable one with a sea gull almost raking Arv and my skulls as it flew over our heads. We also walked through a vintage market that had a concert/gathering going on. The heady scent of incense sticks and vintage collections on display in the market, made for quite a fun experience.

Just when I was about to point out to my friend that I had not come across any street art, walls upon walls of street art appeared before us. Here are my favourites!

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It seemed our competitive nature had not yet been satiated since Arv decided to race me up the stairs to the platform. He duped me though! While I raced up, he casually set his pace, climbing the stairs one at a time. Just when I thought he wasn’t actually racing and stopped sprinting, he made a sudden dash for it and won.

No worries though my lovely Mavericks, I got my revenge later on.

Soon, we reached the station where we met Helen. She handed us a bag full of goodies for our journey back home which was so incredibly sweet of her! Having said our final goodbyes, we boarded an extremely crowded train and spent most of the journey, standing or rather dozing off, leaning on each other, the heat and exhaustion from our long walk, finally getting to us.

Coming back to my Brighton tale, remember when I said, I got my revenge on Arv? Well, my friend, who refused to adhere to the phrase, ‘Let the girl win’ got a taste of his own medicine when we decided to race from the tube station back home. From the minute we got off the tube, the race began. The first to touch the door of the house would be the ultimate champion and I can proudly say, it was yours truly despite Arv downing a double espresso for the sole purpose of winning the race.

The victory was made sweeter by the fact that my friend is actually a runner, who participates in marathons while I shamelessly give him the most judgemental looks for participating in them.

Anyway, that my lovely Mavericks, brings this travelogue to a close. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed reliving it while penning down this fond memory.

Oxford Moments

It’s funny how life works.
Having huffed and puffed about the stagnancy and boorish routine I had somehow found myself settled into, writing on this platform was just not happening.

I was seriously considering deleting this blog because I had turned it into a ranting stage. It didn’t bode well with me and I thought it’d be better to say farewell to this piece of me while it still had something good left in it.

Just then, a friend of mine stepped in and suggested visiting Oxford. It was not just a brilliant idea but also a break both of us agreed we needed, since we had both had quite exhausting weeks lately.

That being said, come Sunday, I arrived bright and early at Paddington station, excited to be visiting the quaint town of Oxford. Surprisingly, my friend who is ALWAYS on time, decided Sunday was the day to rely on wrong travelling information and cut it very fine when it came to boarding the train.

We made it though. At 8 sharp, the train departed and we were off !

Upon arriving, I was made aware of the fact that we had no itinerary planned which in the end turned out to be the right decision cause wandering around, discovering alleyways and sharing moments with friends, is on any given day, much better!

We started off by visiting the Mound. Although we decided against going all the way to the top, we did walk through a small alley that reminded me of descriptions in novels by Charles Dickens, rekindling a love within me, I feel I had forgotten.

Before delving deeper, apologies before hand if I don’t accurately label all the places we visited. Amidst laughter, conversations and simply taking in the view, I think retaining names was far down below on the priority list.

My friend, being the giant he is, took the lead most of the time. It was better that way because Mr. Big Feet wasn’t the best at reading Google Maps and more often than not realised the fact that we were headed in the wrong direction 200 metres after. This way, he walked more than me and my short limbs had some respite from time to time.

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We headed to Christ College but were turned away since opening hours began mid afternoon. Lost, we turned around and continued walking aimlessly but not without some beautiful sights!

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Somehow we found ourselves entering the Oxford University Museum of Natural History where we grabbed a small snack and somehow got into a very excited conversation about men instigating snakes into swallowing them.

We’re fascinating people, aren’t we?

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During our little break from touring, we got in touch with our mutual friends residing in Oxford and we decided to meet up within the coming hours.

The real sightseeing began after we all met up and it was so entertaining!

We visited quite a few colleges and also got to take in the epic staircase where Harry Potter was made to wait when he first walked through Hogwarts, just before he got sorted!

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Stained windows of cathedrals and ornately designed high arches, as I have mentioned countless times before, have always fascinated me. Needless to say, my camera roll was flooded with them.

All the walking had the men feeling hungry, so we stopped at a cafe where I had one of my infamous moments. Having not paid attention to what the others were ordering, I squealed in delight and shock when one of them asked me what chocolate I wanted.

Here are the reasons for my extreme delight:

  • Extreme sweet tooth
  • It’s chocolate. Excitement is a must.

The sudden quiet that settled had me very confused. That was until the man at the counter cleared the air. Apparently, you get a chocolate cookie free with your drink. So my friend wasn’t actually being nice or making a sweet gesture.

To be honest, I have had so many incidents of this sort, besides my nostrils flaring in embarrassment, I don’t think much else happened.

We then walked by the canal and after one too many uncertain and hesitant answers, decided against punting. Having done a poor job at hiding our exhaustion, we decided to take a break and just relax, soaking in the sun that was not supposed to be out at all! I think had we not, my feet would have bled into the soles of my shoes and my shoulders would have snapped.

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We then started back for home and made it just in the nick of time. Two achievements made during our little sprint to the station included  my running skills being acknowledged and the acceptance (I believe women all over the world will appreciate this one) that I, as a woman, am always right and my friend (who’s a guy) is always wrong. Hah!

All in all, the day was such a blessing and comfort. It made for not just great memories that are still echoing laughter but also for a relaxation of the soul, something that was dearly needed. So the trip was a definite win.

Signing off with a picture of us with our wonderful guides.

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From left to right: Yours truly, Arv, Debasmita and Emile.

Till then Mavericks!

Sunday Snuggles

Hello lovely people!

I’ve always been quite possessive about my music library to the point that I have chided myself at times for being childish and petulant while sharing it with others. In my defence, it was solely because some songs connect with you so deeply, you covet them, afraid someone might not understand the importance of it in your life and give it the same value.

Music has been my constant solace and support and uploading my first ever playlist involved a lot of hesitation.

For those Sundays, when you can’t help but snuggle deeper into your duvet, press your body any closer to the person you love or simply bounce on your bed, letting your inner child take control, here’s my playlist.

Click on the image below and I hope you enjoy it !


Picture credits : Purnima Kajal

Being vulnerable…

In this day and age, masks seem to be second nature; an answer to shielding the heart from the thorns of life.

People shed their clothes and slip between sheets with others faster than they’d be willing to shed their inhibitions and whisper their fears into the darkness.

How does one then explain to another, what being vulnerable means ?
How does one confess without peeling off clothes or even speak, without letting go of the masks glued perfectly to the outline of one’s face ?

Worries and dreams, the kind that can only be traced out on parchments of skin when the darkest of corners are wrapped in shadows, need to be heard. There’s only so many times you can press your lips against someone else’s and silence their voice because you’d much rather be lost in the desires of the body than nurture the pounding of your heart.

The world is befuddling.

Cheeks don’t feel the warmth of blush when hungry eyes are memorising every curve and dip in your body but voices do hitch and dry when  wishing to explain who you are and what tales make up the veins of your life.

I wish I could cup your face in my hands and breathe my story into mists of stardust while you snuff out my fears like flames from candle wicks.
While I sheds tears of ink, chapters of my life rolling down wet cheeks, you wipe them away with thumbs ready to create blank slates.

You’d nestle me in your arms, and as I press my face close to yours, I’d inhale the fears you hides so well and read the scrolls caged shut in your eyes. I’d hear the thoughts, the ones shrieking inside you, and I’d do my best to sing the nightmares to sleep. As fingers trace the fading scars on your skin, I’d trail hope down every muscle, to ensure there is spring, not autumn.

You’ll smile, teeth clenched in pain and I’d cut my skin open on the clenched jaw that has silently accepted injustice far too many times and the dew drops of scarlet would enrich this entwined tale with the promise of something new, something better.


The intoxicating delight that comes from the unknown, the rush of adrenaline from anxiousness and the headiness from being wary of the unexpected, must needs wait.

For we’re not prepared to be vulnerable just yet.

Till then, we’ll just muster the courage to speak each other’s names in hushed voices, followed by ellipsis’s of unasked questions and unspoken statements. We’ll close our eyes, faces pressed so close, we might as well count every freckle, and hope to welcome these vulnerabilities in the infinity of the dream world.

Till then, we’ll just make do with enveloping each other in the warmth of sheets and sin.