They come in different shapes and colors. Sometimes, they make you weak at your knees bending you towards the greater gravity yet, sometimes they make you learned, strong and better person.

I am not talking about the candy jar of my nanny but the vivid memories I keep in the vault of my forehead. While reading a biography of a director, I went way back my childhood memories. I wonder, how they have got starched with time turning into grave and faint sepia. I remember that there were several memories I had kept labelled for this conjuncture of my life to be recalled for time sake. the deeper i try to explore, more i get lost in empty lanes of my childhood. I faintly remember the cry of my mother on my first epileptic attack, what happened later has got erased with time. I have this similar memory of a night shout may be a decade later past the midnight when my room mate aroused me from sleep asking me if I just had the fits. The rest of fits got lost in the jolts of life.

Earlier this weekend, with my pals during the game of cards, we asked each other about the first adventurous memory we have. the memory of any adventure which brings the joy of doing it for the first along with the fears of doing it. To my surprise, I told them the story of a day when I must be 17 years old. I wonder, where were the first 17 years got lost. i dont even remember when my father must have beaten for me for the first time and for what. One of my friend could not recall any such event of her life. I could sense her mind racing to and forth drilling the time to find such memory.

Memories are naive and made of plastic. They can mold in any shape and form whichever way we want to. They say, time is the best healer. I now know why they call time as the best medicine for agony. Time erases the memory etched on your soul. We build new memories with old synapses. New circuits are formed in the circus of life.

My friend keeps a record of all the bad things happened to him. It was a suggestion of his shrink to maintain the diary of his ills. Nevertheless, they forget to suggest their clients to maintain a record of happy memories too. Every time he feels sick, he reads the diary he kept filled with agonies and feels more pathetic than ever.

How about we keep the records of our best memories we want to visit again and again. How about we create a log book of people we loved and lost in the midst of crowd. The visual diaries may not sustain forever but the written texts will leave their lasting imprints.

For the least, I am cherishing the few faces I love the most with this draft. For, I love freely.

Second Chance

I thought I had given myself another chance but it seems life has no second option for me. Lat night, I had this vision of me running through a large and dark tunnel. It was humid, horrid and scary. I was running as fast as possible. The tunnel led me to a barren lane. The lane was narrow and noisy with haunting voices of my past. I could not see anything much apart that there were plenty of doors. More doors everywhere and closed from inside. I called for names. I knocked every other door before the walls started crumbling.

My heart started pounding as if i was alive. In that head rush, I started running as fast as possible. I was gathering all my energy in search of way out but the lane was endless and the doors all closed. In midst of escape thoughts, I realized that I ran past to an open window. I stood still to catch my breath and process, “Was there a window or should I look forth for an open door?”

My heart was counting the pros of walking ahead when i chose to opt for the window. I started running backwards in search of the open window thinking of a plan B through the window. But I could not locate the window. I knew I had seen it. It was open with a clear sky through it. i started panicking, if i missed my window. I started running across the lane but all in-vain.

I woke up past midnight with the nightmare exhausting me through the core. I couldn’t sleep for the rest of night wondering if I really missed my “Window”. What if second chance never exists? Would I be lost in the lane or a right door is waiting for my knock?

Obsession of the unseen

And you left me there, Half angry,Half sad.

Some unwanted, some unsaid. 

I looked through the window of my tab for your last presence, as insane. 

If wishes could be true, I never had felt the same. This is new, if I go again. I see, this is new. 

Have I changed?? I ask again. The obsession of old to new is worth a claim. 

I check once again, for the last seen of the unseen. 

Chest of Insecurities

I was a passionate lover or may be a possessive one too. I have no calms in saying that I want exclusive love from my partner.  I don’t fit into the typical possessive type of guy who keeps tab on the every movement of his partner but definitely I cant share my bed with third person.  I was insecure during the days of my relationship. There was always an unseen fear of losing it when I could see the love in thy eyes. The farther the turbulence of relationship turned, the more insecure I became. And a day came, when I chose to relieve myself from this creeping fear which lied underneath me all the time, turning me into a rude monster who was no more a humble human.

Years went past that day but the insecurities never left me. Initially there were insecurities regarding a permanent roof over the head. Thereafter the financial instability never left the calculative area of my forehead. Today, things are pretty settled and clear. I am living a life I had imagined in my youth. But, did insecurities abandoned me?


They have a permanent abode in my soul. They reap on my happiness turning them into fear and foul. I have these visions of dying alone in my home with a door closed from inside. I have this fear of falling sick with no body there tending me. I have this fear of hopeless emptiness in the vague happiness of worldly luxury.

Is their a cure for these insecurities which hid inside me? Or I am the chest of insecurities which should soon be buried six feet under the ground.

The window seat

When the days are blue and nights go doomed, I shut the door of my heart to find the cure of my loneliness.Within the walls of my dark laden heart, lies a window; a space enough to accommodate me with my knees touching to my chest. Its a space so secure, that no one can find me, no one can join me in my own conversations with self. I sit there for days and bothersome nights until I  reckon myself to come back to the shades of reality. Its the solace which gives me strength to fight all that odd in me, a courage to seek solitude in my aloofness with the love. Often I call it my hideout, often I wash out my anger at this window. Some of days a hollow feeling surmounts me, What if,  this window never existed?

Humanity in motion

She asked me, “what is humanity in motion”? 

I knew, it was the moment when I should have kissed her gently on her lips and told her what is in my heart. Instead I drew her near my chest, swiftly nibbling on her neck, I went high to her right ear lobe exhaling like a last breath. I went down caressing her honey hair with in the webs of my entangled fingers. Her smell like the breeze of fresh oranges on the spring blossom aroused me intently,bringing me closer to her lean figure. I wanted to linger the fervour of her curved neck when she suddenly hushed me back! 

“I wanted to know the humanity in motion not the poetry in motion”, she shrugged away, taking her neck back to herself. 

I smiled, “if you had surrendered to my love, it’s humanity in motion”. 

She pushed me aside, “you dog”.         


Until said, my truths decipher into my actions. For least, millions of thoughts pass across my mind, every millionth second of the day. They come with the speed of a jet and leave in a jiffy. There are times when I am making mental notes on pros and cons of quitting my job. and then in another minute I am researching a new place to travel. Life is a complete mess with the uncertainty of present and future. One thing I am assured of is, my past.

For unsaid, my past is a tomb of withered love with a live casket of orange memoirs buried within my chest  Life may be confusing with every ticking clock, but I am never confused about You.