We were standing at the edge of the cliff,
I asked you what would happen if I jumped off,
When suddenly I felt the push from behind.
I was in the air, falling, falling fast,
And your face receding into the sky,
The sun blinding my eyes so that I had to close them.
When they opened, I was lying on a meadow of soft greens,
And you were there by my head,
Singing a song of faith and trust.
I remember the vivid colors on your dress,
And I remember the smile on your face,
We talked about a dream,
Where three goons had kidnapped you,
And I had run so fast behind them,
That by the time I reached you, they had left you
And ran far away, but had bruised your face.
Now that I see closely,
I see the bruise above your eyebrows,
And I realize this is also another of those dreams,
So I wake up.

I hear my mother singing in the adjacent room,
My eyes hurt, so does my head,
The humming gets louder, the song turning to a chatter,
And now I realize it’s not a song,
It’s a foreign tongue someone’s speaking in the corridor,
So I get up from my bed,
And an acute pain rises from my spine to my brain,
Making me sleep again,
Meanwhile, my mother keeps singing in the adjacent room,
And tells me later how she sold our home,
For we were short of money, and this is weird,
Because I had money, and she never asked me for any of it.
I reprimand her, but now she is crying,
And I apologize, but I suppose it is too late,
She is leaving now, she walks out the door,
And I follow her, but she gets lost amongst a group of people,
Speaking in a foreign tongue in the corridor.

I come back into my room, and you are there again,
I tell you how I have been meaning to talk to you,
Tell you how much you mean to me,
How every second without you has felt like a year,
You’re humming a tune too, and the melody reminds me,
Of an incident years back when I had first fallen in love.
It’s funny how she doesn’t come in my dreams anymore,
And you laugh at me, and explain how,
Dreams are a manifestation of one’s truest fears,
I come closer to you, and can now feel your breath on my lips,
When suddenly we hear bomb blasts outside,
We run out, and now the house is in flames,
We look at each other with teary eyes,
Was this how it was meant to end?

The Time Traveller

She wanted
Like a little girl would,
For she was of course,
A little girl,
And so,
It wasn’t abnormal for her
To want what she wanted,
And wish for what she wished.
But then the man
Who defined normal,
Decided to poke a little fun
At this small girl,
And he changed therefore
The definition of normal,
So that her wish
Because almost synonymous,
With the most abnormal thing
One could wish for,
And so it was
That her wish wasn’t granted,
People laughed at her,
For they found it amusing,
That a little girl,
Which she truly was,
Would want and wish
For the things
She wanted and wished.

But then she knew
What she had to do,
So she went,
To the nearest spaceport,
And picked up a spaceship
That was painted,
In pink and blue,
She of course chose it,
‘Cause those were
Her favorite colors,
And she time-travelled
To the past,
Wishing that she’d find,
The definition of normal,
To be as normal as
Any definition could be.
But the spaceship
Was an evil one,
And it took her to the past,
Where the word normal,
Had not yet been discovered,
When she reached there,
People had just come out,
Of their caves,
Looking for deer to kill,
And then ate them,
And slept merrily.

So she took the spaceship,
And travelled to the future,
But now she came back,
To where she had started.
But as far as I think,
Her wishes at the end
Were fulfilled,
Even though people
Did laugh at her,
For the wish after all,
Was to time-travel.

The Mermaid

A tide rose somewhere, and a boat sunk down,
Went down down down to the bottom of the sea,
And for the first time in his life he saw her,
Half of her looked like his wife, and half a whale.

She had big ears, and had gills for her nose,
And was a bright blue where the fish started in her,
Fairer her face than any he had seen,
And locks of golden brown hair huddled close.

She told him a story of love and war,
How she became what she became,
How the axe tore her through her midrib,
And how she was thrown into the waters.

The water Queen had bandaged her,
To the best possible sized fish she found,
And slowly each had grown into the other,
And had come to union and became one.

He, a lost soldier, now a fisherman,
Now dead, drowning, sinking,
Finally finds solace in meeting her,
Who he had mourned for so many years.

And she, oh tears well up,
And her throat goes dry though the seas surround her,
What could she say, and what would she say,
She had reunited with the love of her life.

Cluttered Thoughts

That was the last time we met. I knew, but I did not tell her that we wouldn’t meet again. It would not serve the purpose. I did not want to break her heart, but more than that, I did not want to break mine. It is always nice to have a little more anticipation deep down somewhere in your heart, dream a little more than you know you will get, wish for an extra star, live for an extra day, think about her a little more, hug her thinking there will always be a next time. But deep down, I knew, this was it. She had been a good friend, but sometimes, even the best of friends change, much like the weather. For when the clouds cover the sun, the sun does not stop shining, but it still feels helpless at not being able to meet the sunflower, and the sunflower stupid as she is, thinks the sun’s gone, and the sun, stupid as he is, keeps waiting for the clouds to remove themselves, and both in turn, become upset.

The first time I had met her, things were different. I was only trying to be a nice person, trying to fill in a void. Now that I think of it, that void was never there. It was a creation of my thoughts, and an aggregation of mixed emotions, but all of them, in reality, were made up. And I knew that. I simply refused to acknowledge the fact that I knew that. I was much like an ant, trying to fill in the void of an elephant. And though that may sound much kiddish, in actuality, it was really the same that I was doing. I later realized, that there were two distinct worlds going on in here, and that we both were weaving our dreams together, but in different worlds. And that even if we were to weave the web completely, (if that were to ever happen, which it never really happened), we would not be at the center of one web, but each of us would be at the center of two different webs which were made of two entirely different things. We were two spiders, but our needs were different. One of us needed protection, weaving a web that was small, but very strong. One of us needed food, and the web was sticky, but frail. And the funny thing was, we both thought we were one of these, but in fact, we were really the opposite of who we thought we were.

When you are climbing uphill, all you wish is to reach the zenith. It will just be an easy roll-down from there you know, and you desperately wish to just finish the climb. Yet when you start rolling downhill, you realize that this wasn’t really what you imagined it would be like. It is nauseating, you feel like puking, and you wish mayhaps a level ground would be welcoming for a change. But the level ground never comes. It is either uphill or downhill. Life is made up of such ups and downs. It is never smooth, never like the one we dream it to be. I once read an anecdote about wishes. When you are confused between two choices, flip a coin; when it is midway in the air, see whether you are really praying for heads, or tails. And you will know what you really want. Who you really want. What matters to you. What doesn’t. What you really need. Maybe I really wished for her. Maybe I really wished for us. Maybe not. Time for me to flip a coin, will tell you what I really wished for, when it is midway.


For this is the only one I have, and I cannot afford to lose it, for something that is worth nothing.

So many times in our lives, each of us has said this line, on different occasions, in entirely different contexts, but have meant it to be true, from the core of each one’s heart. There is so much I want to write in this post, because there are so many thoughts that spring up on hearing “one”. I don’t know how many of you have experienced this, but sometimes, very silly things happen, only once, that is it. They will never happen again, and when it happened, it didn’t even seem anything important. But now when I look back at it, I can’t stop smiling, I can’t stop thinking what would have happened if I took a different path at that point. That moment is etched in my mind, never to wash off. But about those moments, I have talked a lot in the past four years. So no more dragging old topics, and no more digging into grounds which are soft enough to walk on.

One chance. Sometimes one chance is all you need. One minute, and if you can get back that one minute, your entire life would speak differently right now. You could live an entirely different life. I will tell you a story, but only if you promise not to laugh at me. Recently, I sat for an interview with Microsoft. After a few rounds, when everything had gone pretty well, the interviewer asked me a very simple question: “What is the size of an integer?”

Now anyone who has studied Computers, (even if he did that back in his middle school), knows what the size of an integer is. For those who don’t, the size of an integer depends on the compiler. And that is what I told him. I quote my answer: “It depends on the compiler.”
“So what is the size?”
“It depends on the compiler, if the compiler is 32-bit, the size will be 32 bits, if it is 64-bit, the size will be 64 bits.”
“So what is the size?”
“I don’t get you. I said it depends on the compiler. It is the size of a word.”
“Yeah exactly. That is what I wanted to know.”
“So the word is compiler dependent…”
The interview went on for some more time but I already knew I had hit the low, that I wouldn’t be able to clear this even if I gave my best. I wouldn’t blame the interviewer, because his job was to eliminate people, and this was only a case where our point of view didn’t match. But for that one question, and that one minute, if I could take it back, today I might have been living a totally different life.

One life. One heart. I wouldn’t make this drab and boring by talking of one love, that notion passed away decades ago it seems. But yes, what we should have, is, one dream. ONE dream. That dream. The dream which would make everything else seem nothing. That dream, after which you would say, “I’ve done everything I’ve ever wanted.” That dream which keeps you awake. That dream that inspires you to do the stupid monotonous dull quotidian things you do today. That, one, dream, is what each of us should have. And you are already smiling, because you know you have that dream; and I have mine too. And I wish you all your luck that that dream gets fulfilled, and you should pray for me too. One prayer. That would be enough. Until later.


Ah, I’m Old

It’s strange how with the setting sun,
When the skies turn pink, to purple, and red,
The birds all chirping, sparrows and eagles alike,
Make way for their homes, a day well spent.
Only if I could fly, only if I could fly,
I would fly up and ask them,
‘How are you different from each other?’
When you both have wings, and you both can fly,
Are you different ’cause you’re small in size?
The sparrow would laugh, and stare at me,
Don’t talk about differences, it would say,
At least we birds are different,
All you humans, all are the same,
And yet an eagle never bombarded a sparrow’s nest,
In the skies, everyone is free,
Our freedom didn’t come with a price,
And we don’t bend in servile notions,
Else we would be destined to fail like you.
Seventy name days you have seen,
Yet what good did you achieve?
You cry in happiness, “Ah, I’m old,”
And people come and serve you,
Without any rhyme or reason,
Showing how much they all love you,
But were you to die on the morrow,
Do you think deep in their hearts, they’d mourn for you?
Or would they dress up in white, shedding fake tears,
All the while thankful that you’re gone,
No one to remind them how old looks like,
They are green, and young at heart,
You, are old, withered and tattered.
I replied, “Ah, I’m old”,
As I woke up from my dream.

The Somnambulist

The rains came with thunder today,
Reminding me of a day gone by,
When you’d held me to yourself,
And sniffed and cried,
You were afraid of the lightning,
I remember.
Whilst I ran, getting wet in the rain,
My clothes drenched, my hair all wet,
You stood inside a building,
Making sure the rains never reached you,
It wasn’t until it had stopped thundering,
That you stopped sniffing,
I remember.
You were my dream,
I the somnambulist,
Walking towards my dream each moment,
Never realizing my folly,
Or what I moved towards,
Always being directed back to my sleep,
By others who thought they cared about me.
Today the rains have come with thunders,
I still remember that evening we spent,
And even now as I get wet,
I see you amongst the people inside the building.