Verbal tantrums of a writer & an anxious spectator of life.

Category: Literary Reflections

They said the title was optional.

the second before she drowned, she saw her left ankle warped in a rope with a stone of a thousand tons, and above she came, the water flowed, in her mind the knife was found, to break the leash, to surrender but never to retreat, she breathed life unto her soul, and she said out loud, her hair dripping wet and her white silk dress clinging to her body as if without it, death would be close, and she said: “tomorrow, perhaps tomorrow i’ll look back and laugh at the wound that only my lungs can feel each time i breathe, but if i can laugh, then the pain, then only would the pain see defeat.” but what if my lungs forget the grace of the ability to breathe, i’m too scared, she thought, too scared to drown again.


Finding Insatiable Felicity

I’m on a journey to acquire a flavor of felicity; however, not a mere moment of bliss but the pursuit of insatiable felicity. I suppose the sleepless nights in my home town can count towards something, a digital diary of sorts – a rear view mirror for the future to shift colors of my future. I suppose pen and ink along with a scroll would do wonders for my thoughts, but sadly those sensitive and fragile days of love-on-paper are long gone and times have become forlorn. But I’ll soak my feather into deep red any way, even if it’s blood that carves the words for today.


More to come.

Living in my Backyard

The cloth you made, is not a cloth you can sell.

This visage you host was not decided upon by you, neither did you choose to add a wrinkle at a certain age or grow a grey hair. Whatever the reality, you call it life; the general proceeding of time and it’s impacts on any given human being. It’s been categorized as the evolution of man. What is most intriguing is that the name, face and personal traits afforded to us are what we are held accountable for. Funny thing is, we never decided to possess such traits. Perhaps she wants to be softer, gentler and kinder and he wants to be faster at running and melodramatic with his words. But no, that is not what is naturally within them. Surely they can aspire for such characteristics and to a certain extent, even abound them into their nature. However, the core, comprising of whatever personality type you are, was what we were born with and surely much of that was socialized and a little sensitivity became abundant in you and a knowledgeable personality was termed as overbearing. We are often blamed for our ways, especially within a social environment and our actions are instantly deemed a natural response.

There are two questions that come to mind at this point. First, at what age do we truly begin to account for our characteristics and personality? Is there a certain age after, which we have become aware of the world and whatever changes we would like to make in ourselves? Or isn’t that an ongoing process, one even death cannot quite solve for us. The second question is why most of us do not delve deeper into our internal souls and acknowledge our traits as our own, before trying to change them or even defend them? If we do not know the facts of the story, why are we selling our story to the world already?

Surely my mind has been idle to the extent that such thoughts have frequented in my way. In a way, it’s an epiphany. For countless years, the struggle has been to mold, belittle, exaggerate our change our ways without knowing our ways. I didn’t sit perched atop a mountain and make a list of traits I would like to possess, in fact, it has been upon hearing others’ perceptions and stories of my childhood that have created an almost fiction-like character with my name! What is the truth behind all of this; before I begin to question myself and the way I project myself, it’s pertinent to be in sync with my desires and hunches. We all have hunches! However, it’s a fast-paced and seductive race amongst mankind, to be one kind of person rather than the other. Who decided what personality should be kept on a pedestal, only God knows but I suppose this is a rant to acknowledge your inner instincts and the humanity within before projecting it to the world that surrounds us. This probably even includes parents. We often grant them doubtless credibility when hearing tales of our mischievous bachpan, but what their eyes saw and what they perceived is not necessarily what took place and children can’t communicate as well as adults in the typical “language” fashion, so most isn’t understood or known about our childhoods; it’s only what we are told after and upon hearing, one tends to delve into changing habits and such. Wait a second. Let’s take a step back and take it easy, take your foot off the accelerator and figure out where you’re directed to, perhaps you’re already in the right place with yourself.

I will not deny that during my school years I was rather hyper; excited with brimming energy, wanting to adopt pranks and rebellion as the norm. Something changed, I don’t quite know what, that inculcated a taste for knowledge in the later years and I began to thoroughly immerse in books, fiction and non-fiction alike. Where ever I am today, with my thirst for knowledge, I can’t account it to a singular experience or incident; perhaps a series of experiences. At this point though, yes, I can account for who I am and the characteristics I possess, but that does not mean I have it all figured out; or that everything I will do or say is in sync with who I want to be tomorrow. In my imperfection there is perfection, in the current time and location. That’s why it’s human to make mistakes. Because we’re this person and we don’t know everything about this person, therefore at times reactions and actions are judged prematurely because at that time, perhaps we ourselves did not realize we would delve into a behavior that we chose.

I don’t presume there is a certain age where we acquire wholesome knowledge of our being; it’s an indefinite process with no finite definitions. However, the moment you realize that there is so much you can discover about yourself, the more validity you give to your erroneous ways; the more you begin to be amused by yourself. You are out of your body, watching yourself act and perhaps in retrospect you would not have wanted to act that way, but now you can add this know-how to what you “do” know about yourself. Golly, this is turning out to be quite layered and perhaps even mundane. But.. Do you catch my drift?

All we can believe and host faith in is the creativity of our minds and souls. We can achieve amusement by using our body as an instrument, to delegate actions and thoughts. Who is the world and who are these people? Who knows, but what you do know is, you don’t know yourself. And as we all know, in the end, we all float on alright.

We  have the ability to dream, and when we dream, we aspire for a surreal version of reality and if you stay there long enough, who knows, you might never wake up. And there, in the land of poetic ecstacy, everything does not make sense and nothing is what it needs to be, and in the land of imprecision, you can surrender yourself to the nothingness of who you are and be everything you desire to be.

Sleeping in Life’s Waiting Room

‎”I had a friend who once told me that the worst mistake you can make is to think you are alive. when you’re really asleep in life’s waiting room. the trick is to combine your waking rational abilities with the infinite possibilities of your dreams because if you can do that, you can do anything. did you ever have a job you hated, worked really hard at? worked really long hours, finally get to go home, get into bed, and close your eyes and immediately you wake up and realize the whole day at work had been a dream. it’s bad enough you sell your waking life for minimum wage, but now they get your dreams for free.” Waking Life.

Somebody That I Used To Know

Edited by Dilsher Dhillon


Keep swimming. I keep swimming; through the tornado of rising tides and what not. In the end, I’ll become somebody I knew, a shadow of what could have been but never was. Constantly provoked by society to indulge in an idea or two, I must not forget my own. But in the end, we all become a tasteful sample of who we could have been but never should have been, because the world would not have it any other way. It’s not your fault, nor mine, nor can I raise a finger or an eyebrow and quiz the world. At last, I’ll leave it to my brain cells to absorb what will conquer the sins of my past and the vigor of my future.

Our desires can be replaced, at best. Not just by what they tell you to do or be, but through the therapeutic cycle of saturating them. The inner voice claims a curious and puzzled emblem of what I want to be and when the confusion sets in, so do the delectable suggestions of others who appear to know you better from the outside than you do from the very inside. I’m not claiming a discourse over a tragic existence, but merely embracing what I feel is the truth, at this very time. How much advice can we take and give? They are simply recycled thoughts and experiences we wish we had dealt with better but the cards have been dealt and your thoughts amalgamated with theirs and mine and what is mine becomes yours and yours becomes mine. No longer is your sole propriety a matter of yourself but that of where you live and their thoughts of it. Curiosity killed the cat – The cat being me, the cat being you.

Kiss the Truth

I cannot think, I cannot be free.


It’s all about being something you’re not. It’s a game we never learned how to play, but were thrown into the sea and expected to parallel the skill of the fish. The world is spiraling downwards, into a raging motion of what can be. But what is it now? We commend technological advancements, the longevity of batteries that run our lives; whether it be a laptop, mobile or a an iPad. We engage ourselves in the motionless existence of a screen, a light glaring back at us and encouraging us to remain addicted. The less the emotion, the better is what they all claim. The softer you are, the weaker is what they all claim.We’ve turned into a robotic existence where declaring your love has become a sin, and the overuse of the word ‘friend’ has become despicable. Slow down and carry on, they claim. In fact, they beseech you to hide beneath the soil, amidst the grime of a thoughtless perserverance of not who you want to be, but rather who you should be:

If it is to be you to scream out loud in the middle of a dinner party because what someone said pierced through your soul and grasped onto your heart and twisted it in circles you never thought of before, remain silent. Do not show, do not feel, do not believe in what your intuition claims. The show must go on and you must not delve into the trivial journey of investing in mankind, or sharing with them the secrets of your heart and mind. Neither can you confess that you host persistent thoughts of holding someone’s hand, or telling them off, or telling them that you care. Do not care, they plead. Because caring is defeat, it is merely a characteristic that belongs to the defeated. If someone lends you a hand, hold back and think twice before reaching out for their fingers, for they may sting and the scar will never erase. If it’s pouring outside, hesitate before calling a friend to share their umbrella with you because they will want something in return. Turn off the voice, which is internalized within your system, which is the reason why your heart pumps blood following a rhythm no man can re-create because if you begin to hear the music, you will silence out the world and become obsolete. Don’t be too nice, or too sweet, or too polite – Don’t say yes to the first invite you receive by a friend or a foe, and never, ever be caught laughing too hard because they will glare at you and deem you unworthy of time and value. Run away from the screams inside of you that tell you to inform another of your love for them, because loving is for the weak. Silence the racing hearts that commend that you are alive, for to feel emotions is to feel the opposite of victory. Never let go, because if you do, you will get so carried away that you will forget the purpose of your robotic survival and be the best in quiet thought, and keenly observe and forget that the Lord gave you a tongue. Be a man or a woman of few words because that has become the most valued treasure of all times. Do not dance while you are driving, do not sing aloud, do not smoke a cigarette in public and never, ever smile unknowingly because someone will catch your moves and devour your reality with their own gruesome ideologies. Give time, test and break others because that’s the only way you will find the truth. If someone hurts you once, run as fast as you can because no one is worthy of your pain and if they follow you, run even faster because it is a shame to expose your vulnerable humanity. Never touch someone’s arm in affection, and never give them a kiss on their forehead because they will harass your eyes with their devilish thoughts.

What has the world come to? This is what we are being taught day after day, night by night – To escape from the sole biological reality that science has discovered yet: that of humanity; that of sentimentality and emotions. It is what differentiates us from an inanimate object. We are not objects. We are living proof that there is a bond in the universe that wants us to speak, to feel and to believe. Our feet are better than any engine in the world; they can take us places we never imagined and they can feel the pain or the joy of a long distance walk; they can sense the morning dew and they can caress your heart. Your mind is your only God, it is what has no limits, it has no edges, no corners, no circular motion of process. In fact, it is as limitless and free as the wind, intangible yet powerful as it can sweep you off your feet. Why are we turning into wooden sculptures? Why are we shattering the very pieces of our glassy existence, each piece of glass reflecting on our souls and why are we so bent on forgetting that we are alive, and that we have senses that can ensure we are so?


Even I couldn’t breathe, as if strangled by the waves of the sea – The current so high, so fierce, so deep, but I thought to myself, me thinks it’s no way to be, so I clutched onto the water slides and set myself free.

I Got Fear, you fool.

There are demons that possess your thought, of courage and matters alike.

I’m unsure whether to elongate this moment, or shorten it by bloody strife.

Do not feed me organic emblems of satanic thought, she cried.

I got fear, you fool, I got fear in my stride.



Maula, Jahan dekhoon, Buss Tu hee Tu Hai

Inquiring within, I’m at a loss because to be lost is my reward for asking.

Shattered by the bewildering confusion that unsettles my tranquility, I cannot be found because I believe that the roshni is somewhere, that glimmer I seek, it is bedazzled, mesmerizing but in a perpetually developing medium of confusion. Nothing is clear. The mirror speaks to me with a glimpse of an answer in one eye, and the other eye lid coming together, kissing one another, ensuring I cannot capture the clarity the other eye has seen.

In my house of dreams, I look around but I cannot be seen – I raise my hands above, high towards the sky and I feel the tips of my fingers, dripping with the sweat of my longing for a taste of an answer, but the only response I receive is a palette of twirling winds, gurgling waters and a storm of thoughts and charismatic perceptions that lead me astray even further.

I am lost. I am living. I am breathing. I am lost because that is the only way to be. I will welcome you to my house, only if you see Maula with me.. Only if you will be sacred in my sins and my virtues, only if you will forget to tell the difference between the two. The gist of my soul is unknown till the day it collapses into the dark abyss of the ocean; where truth will remain hidden as a precious pearl, sparkling with virtue, purity and clarity. But by then, my soul will be dead, and I will not be able to tell. That, to, me, is, life.

Meray Maula –

Tu wohi hai, jo samajh mei nai aata.

Tu wohi jawab hai, jis ko mei dhoondi nahi pati.

Tu woh sab hai jis ko mei chahtay huay paa nai sakti.

Mei iss ishq mei magan hoon.. Is ishq-e-gham mei, jiss mei meri khushi magan hai.