A Heart As Willing

A Heart As Willing

love with ” a heart as willing as a bondage’er of freedom”

~ Shakespeare, The tempest

Days Of The Week

Days Of The Week


You are like a high school nerd at a college party. Everybody unanimously dislikes you. Nobody understands why you’re there or what you want or why you insist on being a total buzzkill. You try so hard to make conversation but nobody is listening. The music at the party sends everyone into a trance but your words ache every time and wake them up until they confront reality. That’s what they will never like about you. Reality is not welcome. And neither is your love for Physics.


Tuesday is the straight A student. Tries everyday to be better than who he already is. His strict parents often compare him with other people his age. Tuesday is mediocre at sports and terrible at art. His notebooks consist no scribbles, his shoes are perfectly clean, he brushes his teeth every night before bed. He crumbles under the weight of all the things he should be. Tuesday wishes he could be a DJ. But he is not even allowed to go to concerts.


The girl with the hair extensions and multicolored earrings, sitting on a bench and writing. Her pen is blue ink. Her favorite flower is a chrysanthemum, a symbol for optimism, joy and sunlight. She is late to work every morning because she really hates coffee and takes way too long to pick the perfect outfit for her day. Not because she’s vain but because she tries incredibly hard to like herself more. Wednesday wants to watch plays but doesn’t have many friends that share the same interest. 


Our mellow friend Thursday, you are the leader of a Christian youth group. You conduct meetings once a week, you quote the Bible to your friends sometimes and you really, really like a girl in your group. You’re too shy to ask her out, but you hope she will notice your new haircut, the one you got for her solely so she may comment on it. But she will never like you back. Your flirting skills are more dry than your Instagram page. Your solemn disposition cannot be appreciated by many.


The loudest girl in the room with the wildest stories, Friday is the winner of all party games. She races against her own drinking capacity yet is still able to hold back the hair of all her friends. She not only discusses Real housewives with her friends but also debates politics with strangers. Friday can eat voraciously but she can also run a 10k. Friday is the perfect confidant, way too easy on the eyes and cooks a killer meatloaf when she has company. Yet, Friday is lost. She has no clue of her own identity.


Saturday could not be a bigger philistine. His room is full of books that have never been touched and his branded socks always have holes in them. He gets out of bed every morning and apologizes to the girl he really should not have texted the previous night. Saturday runs errands for his mother and drives all the way to the other side of town to pick up his little sister from a sleepover. He buys her a milkshake on the way and himself drinks out of his own flask. Saturday likes to cook pasta for his family and secretly wants to open up his own dog shelter.


Dude, wake up. You’re gonna get fired again.



Every night when you think I am asleep or resting, my eyes remain wide open and my heart aches. I feel like punching a wall. Mama, I used to think we couldn’t feel someone else’s pain.

You wake me up every morning, your face a little different every time. Yet the only thing that remains is your wonderful and tolerant smile. You never talk about the elbow bruises, the chapped lips or the youthful scars on your body. Perhaps, you feel victorious in them. One more night, one more day without breaking entirely.

I walked into your room one afternoon. I can’t even remember what I needed. You laid on the floor as still as a corpse and your voice as broken as the vase on the floor. I said “Mama can you hear me?”

All you said –  “Make sure, papa doesn’t hear you.”

One day you picked me up from school, I hugged you so tight that you suddenly cried. It was the first time I saw tears in your eyes. “I thought you were the strongest ma”, I said jokingly. You laughed and wiped your own tears, something that you are so good at doing now. That is day I realized, I’m the only think that makes you weak.

All those late nights when I would sneak into the living room to watch TV, I did not actually want to be awake. I needed something to block out the howling I could hear from your room. I prefer nightmares now, I do. However, cartoons always manage to override the noise. I tried to be strong like you.

Mama, I know you don’t like to eat anymore. Your lunches were always uneaten, food always thrown off the plate. Why did it make you lose your appetite? You needed all your strength. I remember how happy food and chocolate used to make you. You shouldn’t have given up on happiness like that. I am your happiness too.

Every night when father comes home late, I can hear him walking around the house. His drunken legs give way to his harshness. Yet you try to tame him and calm him down. I have never seen you act mad. You pick up the pieces he breaks. I think maybe because they resemble your own heart.

Hey Mama,

can I fix your heart?

Hey, Love

Hey, Love

Hey love,

How could you give up so fast,

For eons we were meant to last.

My eyes yearn to see you one last time,

My ears only hear impending chimes.



Hey love,

Was it really not hard?

To open up to me and let down your guard.

I fear you’ll replace me with someone better,

And in my head everyday, I’ll write you a letter.


Hey love,

Were your words made of truth?

And those times we laughed in those dirty booths?

Your eyes are bigger liars than lips can be,

And now you must feel so very free.


Hey love,

Do you even like the sound of my voice?

I feel like I was only your dirty choice.

I was a distraction perhaps or a key,

A door to a sleazy bedroom maybe.


Hey love,

What about those times I cried for you?

I wanted to see you happy and not blue.

You ignored my concern, I can live with that.

But baby, are you still feeling sad?


Hey love,

You always liked me in my Yellow dress,

Only cause I looked better than a morbid mess.

Will you come back if I put it on for you?

It fits me better than your love will ever do.


Hey love,

As you walk down your path,

I’m trying not to bless you with my wrath.

For love exists in my heart eternally,

But this time it’s not for you, it’s for me.


Instagram Hiatus

Instagram Hiatus

I am proudly announcing, that I have refused to stop giving into my endless tendency to spy on other people’s lives. In other words, my favorite application Instagram has voluntarily been deleted from my phone.

It is so sad that I can easily spend 45 minutes scrolling down instagram in just one sitting. It truly manages to grab my attention and drain my intention of doing literally anything else. Instagram has way too much to offer and while that may be Instagram’s strength, it sure is my utter weakness. The things I usually follow, are dog videos, gorgeous celebrities, travel destination, obviously my friends and maybe one or two fact pages. I’m trying not to miss any of you.

Being a 12th grader in India is notorious for being one of the hardest and saddest things of all time. And now that the most terrifying exams in a student’s live are due for me in 2.5 months, I think it is a wise step to lay off on the dog videos and other less important pages.

It has only been like two days so far and I want to at least do this for a month. You see, not having the delectable app on my fingertips is helping me prioritize. I can already feel my day getting longer- and that is a good thing. There are still occasional moments when my muscle memory drives my finger to the empty space in my phone menu where my priceless app used to be, but I feel like that just makes me even more resistant.

I feel cleaner somehow and I’m trying to do other dopamine inducing activities which believe me are a lot more constructive. I thought detoxes were supposed to be difficult but the first two days of my Instagram detox have been GREAT! Of course I have Snapchat and Facebook so I’m sure that makes it much easier. However, not having Instagram is definitely a noticeable change in my routine and motivation.

I’m going to hope that this carries on for much longer. I know I wouldn’t want to leave the app for good but this is my way of introducing moderation! I read a quote once, “Everything in moderation, including reality” , Instagram being the not so real element. 

The Day I Went to New York

The Day I Went to New York


Ever since I was really young, the one city I always wanted to go to was New York City. I don’t know if it was the movies or its enormous popularity, it simply spoke to me. I had a chance to visit my ultimate dream on 23rd February, 2017.

My words will never do justice to my experience.



I still remember being on that plane

With a galloping heart and wishful eyes

The longest plane ride it sure did feel

The day I went to New York



As I got off I couldn’t believe

My dream of all dreams came true

Like a race car, I darted into the city

The day I went to New York



The skyscrapers seemed larger than life

The crowd echoed of worldly symphony

Every person I somehow envied

The day I went to New York



The air smelled like its people

Mavericks with valuable diversity

Yet a common identity they all revealed

The day I went to New York



Every road, every turn I wanted to see

Each one posed as a raconteur

Reeking of contemporary amalgamated with history

The day I went to New York



Every cafe seemed like it was featured in a movie,

Every store, full of gripping tendencies

Central Park had its own tranquility

The day I went to New York



After sunset, began the perpetual party

From midnight Pizza runs to underground bars

Incandescing lights looked like a sheet of life

The day I went to New York



Bagels and gyros on every corner

Coffees to accompany the long walks

Anachronistic cuisines also passed by me

The day I went to New York



An electric city with an ethereal pulse

It flows with the current of passion

I succumbed to its vivacity

The day I went to New York



And now when I reminisce gleefully 

How good life had once been to be

I can’t help but simply smile about

The day I went to New York


Where Have I Been?

Where Have I Been?

The one thing I feel truly guilty of, is not writing enough. Writing is like therapy for me and going to therapy shouldn’t be erratic, especially for those who really need it. Somehow I always end up doing this on and off thing. It’s like a manic – depressive disorder except the mania is wild periods of elation when all I want to do is write and the depressive period is well, life.

I have already made two references to Psychology. You must be thinking I’m depressed. Well I’m not, I’m just a Psychology student.

Getting to my point, I really wanted my blog to be perpetually exuberant, allowing me to not only share but rigorously practice. I also wanted it to be a platform for me to discover other writers and form a relationship with them,  all in the hope of getting better. I wanted my blog to be more social and so far I have failed at that.

So here I am, attempting to turn that around. I want to write much, much more. From three-line poems to full on rants about my day, I need to turn this into the social space I always wanted it to be. And I thought the best way to start on that would be to share this with whoever reads it. Quite a gamble, I know. But I’ve got to start somewhere. 

And most importantly, WRITE MORE!

So here’s to me, choosing to make more of an effort to participate in the WordPress community, and here’s to you hopefully not hating what I write!

Who Am I?

Who Am I?

Trudging along the road,

I kneel down and sigh

Blood drips down my forehead,

I can feel my legs, barely.



A man calls to me,

He has a stoic halo.

I cannot remember his name,

My visage turns grim.



There is a boisterousness in my head,

A clamor for answers.

I try to recall my name,

My name I cannot say.



Hurriedly I rise,

Scrambling for pieces,

Tell me, who am I?

I am afraid to think.



I can still hear the firing,

It worsens my memory.

Leaning on a broken car,

I look up to find God.



The sky is full of smoke,

The dust wraps us all.

My hands feel heavy,

A gun weighs me down.



I rub my eyes and see,

A soldier it seems I am.

A valiant and ambitious one,

Yet mortal in the end.



Did I come here to kill?

Did I come here to protect?

I look around and see,

I only see distress.



Whichever job I came here for,

This job I do regret.

my heart roars inside,

Agony possesses me now.



Apathetic to my identity,

I pull out my gun to my head,

I stare into the dust and say,

Tell me, who am I?