Mad Woman in the city


I would fail at being the self-proclaimed writer if I cannot put into words the trip that I took. It is a huge deal for me to be able to go out on a solo trip being a girl and coming from a Gujarati Indian family. Yet upsetting more than one person in my life, I walk out of my house, only to find my happy place within.

Do I find my peace? No, but sure as hell I start my journey to peace. I level up in finding my way to the exit. The exit that I believe is not death. But I died a bit on this trip. Haven’t all of us been there? A part of us dying only so a new seed has space to emerge.
                A person told me that it is you stepping up in life. People, I met on this trip were of varied intentions, of varied behavior, of them one thing was common that they all were surprised and awed that I am taking a trip alone.
I had come across, many a time, the thought-provoking idea that,
      “It is not the destination that matters but the journey.”
I can now, with a little experience, assure that. As much as I was at peace the moment I reached the hilltop, the climb, too, made a difference in my life. Destinations. Journey. About the same thing that happened to me, that happens in all self-discovering movies, I set out to reach somewhere, I end up diverting the route, and diverting the route is the best thing that can happen to anyone, trust me. At least to me, it was, trust me.
                               So, I go to a new city. Madwoman in the city full of ruins. Among that ruins, I felt good. I felt comfort. This city had its share of vice and virtue. I learned, more like someone told me that I am the sun, that I have pretty colors within and I should let them out.
               You might already know something but when someone, for me random strangers, tells it in a certain way, at a certain time, it makes a difference. And I grabbed a lot of such advice on this trip.
                    Another such person told me that I am stuck in the past and the future and I am losing my present. And that it is doing no good to me, so I should not do it. So that is exactly what I mean to do. Live in present. Pour out my colors.
                                  One thing at a time.
             And when I came back to my house after a week-long trip
I realized it was one of my happy place
. I realized that no matter how many differences I have with my people,
they are my people. That they will care. They will love.
They will fight. They will shout. They will disagree.
Yet no matter what, they will still be my people and keep being that.
And that I like them just the way they are.
                    I like how I end all my travel blogs by realizing that home is where the family is but my wandering heart can’t stick at one place and that is why
I will go away, only so I can come back.
Pro trip- Traveling solo =  carry only a bagpack.

26th January 2018

             He created me, yet nothing similar.

He, a man of few words and mine a flow of river.

His silence deafening, mine a story it tells.
Nothing in common we share.
I was a kid then, on the JANUARY of 26th, school had a flag hoisting session post which they served jalebis.
Now even after being a Gujarati, it wasn’t my favorite food to savour, now the time has changed.  What could I have done then reins of peer pressure ruled thus I took a plate
and dig in. 
Afar I saw dad standing, politely refusing, parents, too, were invited, they too were served the sweet. 
I kept wondering why wouldn’t he. He is a diabetic, that is the only possible reasons that came in my mind. He could have been courteous and taken it, the other part of me argued. 
At the end of the session as we walked back home, I questioned him, as though my life depended on it. He reminded me that it was an auspicious day and some sort of fast we were to keep. I was carrying the left overs which he took and gave it to the needy. And then turned to me and said, “It is okay. Mom doesn’t need to know.” And started walking by. 
Since then we have one thing in common.
A secret we share. A secret mom would never know.

No Lose. No Gain.

I came across an advertisement, “Loose Weight. Gain Happiness”.


Was the first word that came to my mind. Instincts. What stupid tactic to sell. All those motivating social network posts flash across my mind and I believe I am happy. Well, almost.

Then I took a look at my life. And lives of all the people I know who have fats. Nobody is happy.

So, if part of the whole is true then maybe, just maybe, the whole is true too.

So guess what? Still the wrong tactic? No.

A few moments later, when I wasn’t reacting but responding, I realized that people – I know- with thigh gaps and no love handles aren’t happy either.

If someone is crying over a guy not being with her for she has not so hot body then a girl with collarbones is cribbing too for the guy just was with her for physical needs.

And it is true, irrespective of the genders I use to site an example, that nobody is happy.

Happiness is just a fleeting moment, a day, a week, a month, a year.

Every single person is destined to struggle with sadness.

Everybody has their share.

It has nothing to do with your weight or wealth or height or caste or race or creed.

So go on. Live the way you want- accept your body or change it, it is your decision to make. Let nobody decide for you.

Live with vigor, for your friend or family or colleague or fellow commuter, they too are in the same stream of life, just different boats.

Maybe be the reason for their happiness.



Thirteen Word Story.

via Daily Prompt: Honk  

the cry of a wild goose.
  • the harsh sound of a car horn.
  1. make or cause to make a honk.
    (BRITISH informal)

“The honk of the car,

when it crashed,

still lingers in my hear.”

 “The cry of the wild goose,

took me amidst the labyrinth,

found turmoil.”


Gleeful smile appears as I vomit,

pain of separation vanishes,

conception was seductive. “


Weird thoughts

This or That.

via Daily Prompt: Dubious 

  1. hesitating or doubting.
  2. not to be relied upon; suspect.
    At the threshold, 
    I stand.
    One side is a familiar darkness.

                                                On the other lies enchanting light. 

The darkness calls me back. It is home.

My happy place.

But the light pulls too.

A tempting offer it proposes.

I want best of both the worlds;

In grey, I, want to, seize to exist.

A step to left would put me into a far-off land where the sun doesn’t sparkle.

Where I reign the world.

To my right, if I step, I go to a new world, not of comfort.

I start from scratch. The efforts would tire me down.

Where to step, I am hesitant about.

 Else forever, I shall live in wondering about.



Deadly Destruction

D E A T H.
the action or fact of dying or being killed; the end of the life of a person or organism.
the destruction or permanent end of something.
I lie on the floor.
A body lying parallel to me,
A wall that separates.
He is not moving,
organs not working,
not breathing.
That is death.
I do not feel it.
I call.
And call again
The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable.
He  is not available.
Not reachable.
Not connected.
This, too, is death.
One that leaves me with no emotions.
Other that makes me cry and pull my hair.
Makes me a mess.
Makes me dead.      
One where organs work.
The breathing goes on.
But you don’t get enough air.
You scream while being asleep and nobody hears.
You walk for hours but get nowhere.
You try to reach out but accept no help.
That one is worst of its kind.
That one, I face.
And the milder one too.

The Void.

       a completely empty space.
How did I reach here? 
Amidst this silence, despite the music blaring through speakers.
I take sip of my hot chocolate and as I see up from my cup, I can picture you. 
How you would have sat here for hours. 
Drinking coffee after coffee. 
Writing words after words.
Coffee I can never share.
Words I can never read.
Yet, here I am. 
A drop of tear roll down. 
And I feel the vacuity.
How did I reach here? 
Entangled with this body.
In this pain that ought to satisfy me but no emotions stir out of me.
I lie naked; the coldness of floor not affecting me. 
I keep staring at the fairy lights that is scattered on the floor.
And while I am bite and sucked, I feel the pain of falling into this endless pit.
A pit that now exist.
How did I reach here?
Into this calmness. Something that I always saw in you.
Something I know you have shared with me.
You brought me to the door of an universe.
An universe, I still have to discover.
How did I reach here? 
At the depths of this void, that you left behind as you walked away.
Which I am not even sure of. 
But I am here, now. 
Doing all wrong. Everything that would have earned that something-sour-eaten-look of yours.
Your face still vivid. Your ideas still running through my mind.
Ideas nobody would have shared with me.
Ideas that has meaning. 
One that leaves a smile.
I will either engulf them, and make it my life. 
I take this void and create life filled with vacuum.
Relationships · Uncategorized

Four am thoughts.

Word. World. Whiskey. Rum.

Gin and tonic. Toxic. Relationship. Love. Hate. Night. Day. Light. Dark.

I flutter my eyes. Open. Shut. Shut. Open. Everything is black. Lacks difference. 

The world is sleeping. I lie awake.
Awakening. Awaken. Soul. Preach.
Reach. Out. I touch down. The floor is chilly. Imagine it to be sand.
Thus I dig deeper. Shallow.
Sand pricks my hand. Legs.
Stay afloat. Hair spread out.
On a pillow covered black.
Brown fingers I brush through them.
I think. About everything.
About nobody.
A smile breaks out on my face.
A splash of white on the black canvas.
I feel far. Away. Juxtaposed.
To salvation.



Profoundly confused!

As I step out of the gate, I realize that I am at loss. Money, and a few good people and something that could have accumulated into love. But I made this decision. I decide to not think about money. To risk a relationship. To risk feelings.
To give up, at the snap of fingers, everything this sane world needs.
My needs go way beyond.
I have never come across my needs that I profoundly talk about.
So I let their words affect me.
I try to rub some reality on me. I try to run into truth.
Rather I bump into confusion. I don’t give it a second thought. Why would I? When there are versions of reality- then why would this confusion baffle me?
I don’t know how to figure it out.
So I walk out of this gate. And in this not so chilly night, I take in some hard liquid, lie back on this bike that is not mine. And look at the stars. Stars in the city yet delightful. Now, I know why writers marvel at the stars.



I do not understand.
What is good. And what right.
I am being pulled. And pushed.
There is a force that is driving me. Crazy.
But I am still sane.
There is a contrast. A touch that makes me shiver. Giggle.
I like it; the touch.
Yet I don’t let it stay. For I am going insane.
The way it melts.How it forms a shape. A puzzle being solved.

A taste I never had.

Taste of domination. Of gentleness.
The friction creates fire.
The fire heats me up.
Soul, however, is still cold.
Because this is not love.
Nothing is love.
Now, I am dead.
This fire burns me.
Turns me into ashes.
Makes me nothing.
So, then, I too can be loved.