a note to my anxious self,

does it come in stutters? or does it announce itself in the form of a nervous laughter? wait, is it evident by my constant biting of nails? i’ve heard it could even be my constant need to eat. or more like stuff food in a manner that’s a little too much for the tiny opening of my mouth. the internet tells me it could even be there while if i’m dancing to my favourite song. 

please tell me what it looks like. well thank god it doesn’t always look like curling up in a corner and wanting to distance myself from my best friend. she’s really not responsible for this. she doesn’t deserve my rants at 6 in the damn morning. let alone a rant about a breakout on my face. god, first world problems. but how do i explain it to her? the issue isn’t the breakout, it’s how every little detail of my face looks like the world is ending. not because i honestly give a fuck about how i look, but is even there one good thing about me?

i really need to stop labelling this feeling as “anxiety” because i don’t even know what i feel inside the fucked up head of mine that convinces me everyday that i am nothing but a waste of space. this was the exact joke i made last night and felt convinced when everyone even midly agreed with it. because i don’t know, it’s like, pessimism runs in my blood. 

i don’t know if it comes in stutters to some people, but the anxiety for me, comes in the apparently witty joke i made last night and everyone laughed it off. with me.


Stop Hushing Depression.

“Therapy? What even is that? Relax a little bit. You’re just over thinking.”

This is one of the million reactions that people get if they share their depression with the world. Let me correct that, one very subtle reaction because you can’t even imagine the reactions people actually receive. People are called maniacs, jobless, idiots and bored for one is “never really suffering” from depression because “depression does not exist.”

“It’s all in your head.” Because obviously. How are we eating right and going to college regularly if we’re suffering from depression right? For the love of god, people need to know that depression isn’t about curling up in a corner every night and crying. Depression is not about mere bad eating habits and relationship breakups. Depression isn’t about not scoring well in your math exam. Depression is the ugly aftermath of all these little things coupled together.

Depression doesn’t always have to be about crying yourself to sleep, it is also about not being able to cry because you’re too hurt. Depression is about not being able to gather the guts to talk to someone about the things bothering you because you’re going to be labelled as a psychopath.

Stop hushing depression, it is not a lifestyle. Depression is not an easy way to seek attention. Depression is a slow death. It’s an umbrella where millions of scared beings shelter themselves, unknowingly.

Stop hushing depression. Hum pagal nahi hai.

march 9th, 2017.

So my mother, who recently discovered her love for Whatsapp is going through a difficult time dealing with the latest Whatsapp update. She has been cribbing and to be rightly put, sulking over not being able to read the Whatsapp status of her friends. On being asked to what do next if we do not like the new update, I instantly replied saying, “I guess we just have to deal with it.” Upon hearing this, my mother kind of frowned and kept down her phone and dozed off.

Rewinding the conversation my mother and I shared a few minutes back, made me think. It made me think of those countless number of times when we decided to ‘just deal with stuff’ instead of doing something about it. The number of  times when we intentionally or even unintentionally let things be, even when we could have done something to better the situation. Regardless of how small, or impactful our actions were or could’ve been.
When all it required for my best friend to not cut herself was one idiotic inside joke & a Grey’s episode where Meredith says how life is too goddamn amazing for us to not respect it enough for having one.

When one truthful confession written over a small piece of paper by a boy to his father, could have helped him come out of the closet rather than giving up and never come out.

Truth be told, things are never easy. Things are never going to be easy. But just because they don’t seem easy does not give them more power than us. If things aren’t easy now, they are going to be easy a few days, weeks, months, or even years after now.

Living in the feeling of failure is always going to be much better than living in the feeling of regret to not have tried enough.

So the next time your best friend is having a bad day, write a letter to her and drop it in her bag secretly; only for her to receive it with a huge unannounced smile on her pretty, pretty face.

The next time you’re leaving for college, increase the radio’s volume and dance with your mom for two minutes and give her the best memory of the day.

In the metro, if you happen to find someone looking a little off, give them a compliment and watch them smile. It’ll be the most honest smile you’ll ever see.

Let us not let things be.

Let’s try to never stop trying. To make things better. To make people feel better. To make people feel about things, a little better.

Her day.

​she is much more than your perception about her.

she is much more than the red lipstick that gives her the ‘easy’ character.

she is much more than the slit on the right side of her skirt. 
she is much more than her bangles that create a noise.

she is much more than the magalsutra that takes away her chance to win.
she is much more than your greetings that are whistles.
she is much more than the burkha she wears because she respects the traditions.
she is much more than the asset that you have to protect.
she is much more than your patriarchal practices.
she is much more than your slamming doors.
she is much more than your abusive acts on your tipsy nights.
she is much more than your honour when you kill her.
she is much more than your stares.
she is ferocious, 
she is beautiful,

she is fierce,

she is sexy, 

she is fire,

she is wild,

she is smart,

she is loud,

she is human,

she is female.


//this is for a friend who asked me to write on a friendship that faded away. thank you for trusting me with my words.//

Remember that Sunday morning when you woke me up at 6 inspite of knowing that I would kick you right in the face for doing so? 

Remember the times we planned to miss our English classes together to have food? 

Remember the drunk calls we made to our crushes and then giggled about it for hours?

Remember the nights before our History exam when we solved the entire question paper together?

Do you remember any of it? I do.

I remember it as a faint memory. The one I wish to forget and remember at the same time.

I always knew I’d have my best memories with you. The only difference is, that I thought I would remember it as something I’d boast about to the whole world, and not as something I’d wish to be quiet about now.

I choose to be quiet about it because it feels less of a void that way. It feels like something that won’t hurt. Like something that won’t ache.

It’s great to see you doing so well. Making memories and writing about them. It’s so great to see you growing up with people who you love with all your heart. And again, the only difference is, that we seemed to build ourselves a home, but now it just seems like walls keeping us apart.

I never thought I’d look at you from a distance and walk away. I never thought I’d have a great day and not share it with you. I never thought I’d have a bad dream and not cry about it to you. I never thought the home that we created together would someday help us to keep each other apart. 

Maybe the reason we can’t imagine everything that could ever happen to us is because sometimes it’s not what we want. Maybe sometimes not knowing everything is the best.

Remember the time we promised each other to always stick through thick and thin? I do. Like a faint memory I wish to forget and remember at the same time.

Chai aur Zindagi.

Our lives are exactly like our cup of chai. All of us have one to ourselves, and we like it just the way we make it.

Some of us like our chai extra sweet, just like those stolen moments of happiness shared secretly with our best friends.

Some of us like our chai with the right amount of bitter and sweet, just like the ups and downs that we face as we move forward, but never complaining. We know it’s our own cup of chai and everything about it goes the way we want.

Some of require no sugar. We don’t require candy coated drama and we’re just fine with what we have. Content and complete.

Some of us add adrak and elaichi. The memories we create on our own, because we want to enjoy each sip as we take it in. The chai, the life.

All of us have millions of different things going on in our lives, just like the million different ways we make our own cup of chai.

Amidst these little differences, the one thing that keeps us together is our cup of chai.

So we know, that even when we all lead difficult and different lives, there is always going to be at least that one thing that would always hold us together.

Let us all just hold each other together, the way chai does. Let’s be with each other till we have the time to enjoy one more cup of chai together.


Maa, you’ve been complaining about your terrible headache for over two days now and I am starting to get worried. None of the antibiotics have worked and you’re complaining about it again tonight. So, I finally sit back and ask you to sleep straight so that I can massage your forehead for the first time in my life. Maa, you smiled  as I applied balm on your forehead and ran my fingers up and down massaging your head. I remember you saying that something finally seemed to calm down the ache. I hardly massaged your head for good five minutes and you told me it was the best day for you in years. You sounded relieved and happy. Five minutes and now you are in a deep sleep.

As I pressed my fingers on your head massaging you, I felt the pain leaving. The sighs of calm that you exhaled clearly spoke volumes about the relieve you experienced in those five minutes I dedicated to you. It did not come as a surprise to me, your headache. You run around the house all the time because you’re just as crazy as Monica when it comes to your ceremonial cleanliness. You never seem to complete an 8 hour long sleep because you keep breaking it by checking if I still have my quilt on. You wake up the earliest and make me the yummiest parantha that I do not eat half of the time and go on to pack more of it for college which I have a hard time saving for myself because the whole group hogs into it. You scold me half of the time and make me furious at the tiniest of things. I have issues with you because you take away my entire privacy even when I am about to turn twenty soon. You would never let me do half of the things I want because that seems to make you the happiest. But maa, you’re the scariest woman I would ever come across wherever life takes me; and I am pretty glad about it.

Maa, you’re the strongest human I’ve ever seen. You’re stronger than Dad, and you hold my life together. I know I am the most impossible kid you could get and I know you feel sick to the stomach when I am unable to do half of the things that I know my sister could. I know you miss her every day, and I know I would never be able to make up the best daughter like she was, but I try. I always will. I know Maa, you’ve seen the saddest of days and have come out the strongest. Maa, you’ve molded yourself into shapes impossible. I know you want to cry your heart out, but you won’t; in front of me. What else is strong, Maa?

Amidst the absolutely missed shopping sprees and stolen moments of mental breakdowns, you’re sleeping without a headache today, Maa. And I couldn’t be happier.

I saw him after two years, today.

After almost two years, I saw him today.

His hair has grown a little longer. Does he remember how much I admired his long hair?

I guess he was wearing his favourite grey sweatshirt. The one I used to wear to sleep when I missed him. 

He was probably running late for college again, because he brushed past me, obviously not realizing my presence.

He was in a hurry, so his figure left the street.

Just, the smell of him remained. 

Remained long enough for me to realize it was him. Long enough for me to quickly remember the three years I spent laughing in his arms. To miss playing with his hair. His smell remained long enough to remind me that it was my favourite thing about us. The fact that I clearly remembered the smell of his cologne because I practically wore it for three long years. How the smell of his cologne was enough for me to feel like home even when I was alone. 

The smell of his cologne was enough to make me stop for a second, just stop. 

So I saw him after almost two years today and his hair has grown a little longer. Does he remember how much I admired his long hair?



Boomerang. That’s how their love felt like.

Coming to you slowly, and strongly. Hitting parts of you and making you jump with excitement and then leaving eventually. As swiftly as possible.
It wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t their happy decision to be in a relationship & staying a thousand miles apart. But they chose the boomerang. They chose the boomerang because it hits you, making you feel its presence.

Their love hit each other every time they met after months of eagerly waiting to see each other. Their touch felt so much more real when they knew they only had a few hours to spend together in the entire week. Their kisses grew more intense and passionate. Their hugs would fix the two of them into each other almost like completing a puzzle left unfinished for a long, long time. The secret glances at each other increased. The idea of making memories meant the world to them. And the goodbyes, they grew quiet. For when the boomerang hits you and takes its leave, it doesn’t make any sound. The goodbyes were hugs attached with a smile that spoke for itself. A smile which pleaded them to stay a little longer.

That’s what a boomerang does. Leaves you asking for more.
A little more time with each other spent laughing and eating home-made food. A little more time holding hands while walking back home. A little more time to look into each other’s eyes. A little more time to kiss each other till you run out of breath. A little more time to look at them laughing and dancing. A little more time to tell them how they’re the only safe haven you’ve ever known.


The Thing About Photographs.

There is this really weird thing about photographs, right. They bring back a flood of memories you thought you weren’t even capable to remember anymore.

It’s almost like you’re sipping coffee on a random Sunday afternoon and re-living the moment when you went out on your first school bunk and got caught.They remind you of the first time you had lasagna and couldn’t stop talking about it. They remind you of the last day at school and of your graduation outfit. The times you went on a date with your best friend and the time you were 5 and got injured because you fell down trying to climb the stairs just right. 

You know the vibe attached to these photographs? It’s just to hard to explain. The fact that you clicked certain moments of your life and now that you look back at them, you realize that they were the best times you spent living, laughing and loving. It’s just so magical. There is this really weird thing about photographs,right?

They make you miss your old times so much, that you make sure you click your present and treasure it. You know, your own shoe box of photographs;  you open it and the happiness pours in. Hitting you so hard, you cannot stop the tingling sensation. And the funny part is, you do not want to stop the tingling sensation.