memoirs on strangers we meet in transit (2)

Sometimes I think maybe all we had to do was take this one tiny step and every thing else would have fallen right into place. Thing is we’d walked so goddamned far and so goddamned long, we forgot why we’d started in the first place. Now there isn’t an ounce of homesickness. We’re so tired,…

memoirs on strangers we meet in transit (1)

Everything about her lifestyle was so extravagantly golden, but that night and every night after that, the only thing that caught her attention, was the glimmer of Lavender’s eyes, which honestly, was the dullest palette of November, but it was also the only thing that called her home.

🍑

Twenty years was yesterday, and yesterday was just earlier this morning, and morning seemed light years away. “I’m like you,” he said. “I remember everything.” I stopped for a second. If you remember everything, I wanted to say, and if you are really like me, then before you leave tomorrow, or when you’re just ready…

🍑

The dream had been right—this was like coming home, like asking, Where have I been all my life? which was another way of asking, Where were you in my childhood, Oliver? which was yet another way of asking, What is life without this? Andre Aciman // Call me by your name

le bar à huîtres

Its three days past Christmas break, a week or two post my sixteenth. By this time almost every fresher at C. has already left for home. I can’t, cause it gets freezing cold in D. in winters. God knows how much I hate winters like that. There’s this marvel of a lawn at the rear…

mimosas and the promise of home

it was a couple of minutes to sunrise; a dawn so picturesque it out-rightly demands a poet’s attention. What an unusual day, thinks the poet who incidentally, happened to be at the shore that day. We’ll call her V. which is short for Vea, which happens to rhyme with Sea, which is why she was named…

stars behind the clouds

you have no idea how much we as humans are capable of tremendously hurtful and offensive diabolicity; how we impose our existence upon others as though this imposition is our most deadly weapon, and others- they accept it most effortlessly, sometimes to the point where they begin to crave it. At this point, when you…

Ode to the Joyride

You walk to the ticket stall, hoping this evening doesn’t end in a Melanie Martinez song. You buy two one-way tickets to Neverland -one for Em & one for yourself- knowing very little of how nights end here (or if they end at all). You think you’ve finally caught up on love. You’re not a…

সত্য

He finished his Murakami in the quiet of a dark, abandoned alley. The kind of street where lovers do what lovers do (truth be told, he had no idea, but he also couldn’t care less). He laughed scornfully at the mere idea of it. ‘lovers do what lovers do’ could definitely pass for an overrated-and-misattributed-to-Bukowski…

On the road

It’s almost an hour past midnight, so I suggest, over the sound of our roaring motorcycles and sleepy laughter, that we pull over for the night. The wind is almost prickly, accompanied with the agony of loneliness that a starless night brings. One would call it rather disgraceful to drive 7000 feet uphill and not…