One Day

One day, when we’re tired,
Of the droning monotonous lives we live in,
And are flummoxed by everything that happens around us,
When the day is done and the sun sets down,
I’ll come over to where you sit all day,
Looking at those tiny-font lines of code,
And wondering if they’ll do the magic this time.

I’ll ask you out for a drink or two,
You’d look at me with the same grown look,
We’re growing old, and drinks don’t charm us no more,
You say it’s better to be in your senses,
What’s the fun in getting tipsy anyway,
When we’ve done that so many times?
Let’s try something new, for a change, you ask,
Let’s go out for a cup of tea.

So we walk outside, and the drizzle hazes your glasses,
You take it off and wipe it nonchalantly,
And that’s the first time I see your eyes,
As naked as it were in my dreams.
You eye me now, where am I lost?
I smile and say that I was wondering,
Are you a ginger or a cardamom person?
You pay no heed and continue to tell me the story
Of a neighbor who loves your dog.

We walk for a while, the rain’s now stopped,
And the last sip of tea remains in your cup,
You gulp it down, and we rush back to office,
You to your lines of code, and I, to mine.
And when after a while, I turn my head,
You’re smiling on the phone, your eyes are bright,
Telling him how you just had tea,
Subtly omitting out the colleague.

One day when we look back,
To trace how we fell in love,
We’ll not remember the numerous times,
We went to the pub, or danced to songs,
Which we could not remember the next day,
We won’t remember all the drinks we had,
Or all the ones we didn’t.
But that one evening, when we walked in the rain,
And tried to keep ourselves warm,
Tea being the only help,
And when I listened to your story,
Of the neighbor who loved your dog,
Is what we would remember as,
When it all began.


A cold winter morning, a sky full of fog,
An empty street, a couple there, and me,
I walked my path, it led nowhere,
And somehow we ended up in the same café.
I looked at her, her deep blue eyes,
They had so much to say,
I looked at the boy who sat with her,
His eyes, empty, like a novel burnt to ashes.

Since there wasn’t anyone else around,
And the coffee was taking only too long,
My eyes kept wandering back to them.
They both seemed indifferent about me;
And that was alright, but alas!
They seemed so indifferent about each other.
Their fingers intertwined, his hand in hers,
But never a look, nor a smile at each other.

Who were they? I wondered,
Waiting for my cup of coffee.
I could not imagine why they would want to be,
The way they were, together.
For I believed, love was spoken,
Not with words, but through the eyes,
But alas! Their eyes never met!

And suddenly those three words were said,
“I love you”, whispered the boy,
“As do I”, she said in return,
Yet still neither faced each other,
Though now they were all smiles.

The waiter arrived, a bit later,
With my steaming hot cup of cappuccino,
“Isn’t it weird?” I asked him,
“How could they not see each other,
And yet say those words all the same?”
The waiter looked deep at me,
Smiled and said,
“Sir, they both are blind.”

And that day I realized,
How true it is,
When they say that love is blind.

A Brighter Color

I sit in a dark room, silence all around,
No one knows the pain deep within,
I have kept it to myself,
Not wanting you to know,
For fear of troubling you,
With my baseless fears.
I fear, and do you know that?
I fear, that I might lose you again,
For my life has for sheer luck,
Given me another chance to be with you.
But the rose that had withered off,
The black rose that you’d last seen,
It’s still the same,
And will be, forever.

For love you I not anymore,
But I cannot ignore you either,
Such is the trauma in the lives of lovers,
Who can think all they wish,
That they have moved on,
Yet only a sentence,
Or sometimes only a song,
Is enough to rekindle,
All that was lost,
And much is not lost,
For you are still there, and so am I.

But let bygones be bygones,
Let a new rose bloom,
Let us let luck decide its color,
For when the night is blue,
And full of stars,
When we’d be drinking,
To wash away our scars,
We’d probably lie in one another’s arms,
For you are still there, and so am I.

I sit in a dark room, silence all around,
But will you fill it,
With lights and noise?
I hear clamors, yet only in my mind,
And the light through the windows,
Come warily at those times,
When I think of you the most,
And light my lap,
Does that ring a bell?

For now I must stop,
Yet I pray you, come back,
Forget what can yet be forgotten,
And let us turn our lives,
Into a merry affair,
For when all is said and done,
The black rose will still be,
Hidden in a pocket deep somewhere,
Wishing it met another of its kind,
Only a brighter color.

An Average Day

As I woke up, the light stinging my eye through the tiny gap between the two curtains, I silently said a small prayer for the day to be sunny as it was. But it rained. I strolled down the road, hands in my pocket, wearing a hoodie, which also covered my head, although my hair was getting damp. Yesterday I had cycled all the way, but the raindrops on my hand felt like ice pellets, and I had no gloves, so I did not want to take the risk of getting my fingers numb again. People huddled at bus stops, for there they found some protection from the rains. As I entered the university, it felt warmer. The thermostat had done a good job. The door said ‘Drücken’ the next said ‘Ziehen’. I pushed and pulled the doors as necessary, pausing now and then to say ‘Hallo’ and ‘Gutten Morgen’ to faces that were unknown at the beginning, but had now become familiar.

For instance, I knew the man in the electronics laboratory, he was okay at English and had offered to help me on the very first day when I needed a two-point plug instead of the three-point that I was carrying for my laptop. I knew the lady at the ‘Mensa’ who gave subway sandwiches. I remember how first I had thought they were cucumber slices, but later realized they were thin egg slices, which made that breakfast so good! I was slowly getting used to this place. The Professor I worked with did not know much English, but we were good. We spoke Java, and that was universal. I wonder how some people cannot speak English but can code perfectly in English. How do you understand what you are coding when you do not know the language itself? It is one of those questions that I will never find an answer to, just like I still don’t know how babies learn their mother tongue.

I had just earned my stipend yesterday, my first ever earning. It was 200 euros, and I was so happy I treated myself to a really good pizza yesterday. German food was bland in general, and Italian helped me remember how good food can be. I took a slice of bread, and went back to my lab, then made some fresh brewed coffee. I must tell you, there is no better way to start a day other than having a huge cup of coffee. Until last week I was working on a desktop with a German OS installed. It was a relief to switch from Einstellungen to Settings and Zubehör to Accessories. I now had a desktop which had Windows 7 and an English US version of that. My work had been fun lately, and I desperately wished it continued to be so.

When I came out later for lunch, it was still raining. The food was hot, but only temperature wise, nothing spicy. Mustard helped in making it bearable. You realize the value of sauces only when you’re devoid of it. As I left for home in the evening, a small part of me wanted to stay behind, wait for her. She used to stay back in the university till two in the morning sometimes; I could have waited in her lab, but then I changed my mind. Reality hit me. And I strolled back home again. Meanwhile, the clouds still poured.


I seriously don’t know where to start from. Firstly, I would like to thank all of you for praising the concept of Decagon. It is always tough to cross the first hurdle. The second one is easier. The second one is simpler. You know what kind of obstacles might come. You gain experience. But what about the one who comes second? Do you remember who came second in the race? Do you know who is the second tallest man in the world? A miss is as good as a mile. And coming second is as good as coming nothing. Do you agree? If you don’t, you are one of those optimists this world really needs.

Two. Reminds me of the two of us. We were the best of friends since junior school. We were supposed to go to the same college after school. He had messaged me on Facebook one day, and I remember his last status update. “Truth hurts. Not as hard as falling off a bicycle, but it does.” He passed away the next day, drowned in a river. I can never forgive myself for not being around him that time. Time heals, they said. They were wrong. That pain is still fresh, like an open wound, which pains till the core even when touched ever so lightly.

Two. Two lives. Dependent on you. I do not want to make this post drab and boring, but I cannot resist talking a bit about those two people who matter the most in my life. My father, and my mother. No, my mother, and my father. My father asked me once, “Who do you love more, me or your mother?” I replied, “What do you value more, your left eye or your right?” No one asked me the question ever again. In a conservative society like India, it is customary to take care of one’s parents until ever. We do not follow the fashion of independence around here, and our lives remain intertwined for almost forever. I do not know if you would consider that good or bad, but for me, it is pretty much what my entire life consists of. Because for some people, loving is difficult. It is difficult to fall in love, and when you don’t have someone with you, it is difficult to live, because you need someone to share your thoughts with. I can share all my thoughts with my OneNote on my computer, write down lots of things, but at some point, there are times when you want to shout out, to talk, to cry out, to laugh aloud, and it may be at one in the night when your friends aren’t around. Who do you shout with then? Tell me soon.

Two is the number of symbiosis, of interdependence, of love, of compassion. You have crossed level One, you have woven that one dream, you now need someone to live that dream with you. For what will you achieve by living alone? Has any bird even flown alone to distant countries? Has a single man ever won a war? Never did a single flower blossom with happiness, nor did the squirrel chirp with itself. And so, live your life, try to love, fall in love, make mistakes, share it with her, laugh when you are happy, and cry when you are sad, but don’t be alone, because when you will see, in the shimmers of night lights, people smiling, and girls humming, you will realize, being alone might not have been that bad, but being lonely, surely is.

One | Three

Love’s Lagoon

Into the sea of grief when I will sink,
When unhappiness will fill me to the brink,
When from the glass of loneliness I’ll drink,
I hope you will be there with me.
There have been times when I was lonely,
But none like this came ever before,
When I wished from the bottom of heart,
Only if someone would open her door.
Let me sit for a while and have a drink,
And into the world of dreams let me sink,
Then when I would wake up I would leave,
Thank her once and later bereave.
These times soon passed, and I got you,
You came in my life when in it were left a few,
And with you by my side I have touched the cloud,
And even in silences I have shouted loud.
The wave of happiness then crossed over me,
I knew the next one wouldn’t come so soon,
And while I waited for it to come,
I spent my nights staring at the moon.
That moon still shines at me every night,
Telling me that you’ll be back soon,
And when you come you’ll clasp my hand,
Stay along with me in my love’s lagoon.

Square One

So many things I thought that day,
So many promises I made that night,
That I would throw out of my life
Those incidents that passed with all my might.
There is no one in my life I thought,
And tried to pretend to myself,
That never ever did I know her,
And threw away the cards on that shelf.
Yet now after so so many days,
I finally realize God’s ways,
What he had intended by what he gave,
And what I thought was only my crave.
Those roads where we walked a hundred times,
Those dreams which we wove together at times,
All have broken for her may be,
But in my mind they still grow like a tree.
The string of love she may have broken,
Yet the other part of it is for me a token.
How much ever I think there is no one,
I know deep I have come back to square one,
That love of her, those moments we share,
Go tell her someone, that about her I still care,
And may be we will someday again meet,
Won’t cry, will smile, but beneath my feet,
The earth will crumble to pieces when I see,
That him of her where I should be.