Sixteen.

Sixteen and naive,

You're oblivious to the possibilities of life,

Tying your fate to the boy in the next class, you dream of a future under pine trees and starlit skies.

Sixteen and unbroken,

You're yet to experience the pleasure of pain,

Strolling on the beach and building sand castles, you imagine life is always this simple.

Sixteen and brisk,

You're galaxies away from cherishing the luxury of slowing down,

Darting from one moment to another, living without a pause sounds like a true achievement to you.

Sixteen and broke,

You still haven't met the delight of owning things you lay your eyes own,

As you walk from a bookstore to a clothing store in a huge mall, you think window shopping is a feast worthy enough.

Sixteen and wide-eyed,

You're yet to travel and unravel the beauty and the mysteries of the world,

Glancing at the images in an old magazine, you wonder if you'll ever dip your feet in one of those exotic beaches.

Young and still unexposed to the realities of life, you dream and fail.

You pick yourself up each time you fall.

You will not know that you'll be offered second chances, mercies, and countless opportunities.

You will not know how it feels to get your heartbroken and heal with no one by your side.

You will not know how scary darkness is and how strongly you fight back for light.

You will not know how gratifying it is to come home with suitcases of souvenirs and heart full of memories.

You will not know how truly amazing it is to have someone by your side, who picks your battles like they're his own.

You will not know the beauty of the things you'll create and go to sleep with a satisfaction that's self-made.

Someday, you will know all this.

You must then remember, that you were destined for this.

That at sixteen, you didn't know what was in store for you.

But you were destined.

For this, and more.

Mood Swings.

My mood swings are like shapeshifters.

One day, they are bottled up tight intact,

The other day, they are freely flowing.

They come in blacks when I anticipate the whites.

But when I expect the blacks, it's always the whites.

Grey areas, they announce unabashedly.

But grey areas are not what I like.

My mood swings are like shapeshifters.

They chase me into the darkness sometimes,

And prance around me like sunshine, the other times.

But it's more than just the confusion, you know?

To do the unwanted.

To want the undone.

My mood swings are like shapeshifters,

Even they do not know what they are in for.

It could be fancy, or it could just be plain.

But how would they know if all they do is surprise me?

Twenty-First Vs. Twenty-Fifth.

It was 2012. My twenty-first birthday was slowly approaching. I carefully picked a pink dress and a got a haircut I regretted for weeks. It was just around four years but it indeed feels like a distant time with everything different. I was a different person too.

It was a significant year of my life. I was graduating, I had a couple of college admissions in hand, I was yet to take up my first job and I was highly indecisive about what to do with my life. I was not willing to settle down for mediocrity but my twenty-first year was just about that -- settling for mediocrity - in terms of love, life, friendships, and more importantly, the career.

It is 2016. My twenty-fifth birthday is fast approaching. I carefully picked a lot of dresses this year and was wise enough not to get a haircut like every birthday. I'm such a different person now. From choosing mediocrity to fighting adamantly for what I truly believe in, I sure have evolved into a person that was alien to my twenty-one-year-old self.

At twenty-one, I was largely apprehensive about the new path of life, bigger responsibilities, and tougher challenges. I was worried that I was growing older and that the best years of my life were simply behind me. Now, what can I say about turning twenty-five? Four years older, wiser and with more feathers in my hat, should I be more worried that I am soon hitting the later years of the twenties and life is just never going to be the same again? But why do I feel like the best days of my life are right ahead of me? That they are beckoning me with sweet promises and bitter miseries. All of it would still be worth it, though. Won’t it?

When I was a child, I was told sternly that time does not stop for anyone. Sure, I believed it for a lot of years only to realize that the myth could be altered. Time would stop, walk, and run with you only if you value it as much as you value yourself. If only you grow along with it.

Now I know that being twenty-five isn't being old.  There is so much to see. So much to learn. So much to live. And not to forget, there is so much time.

At this point, however, I'd like to worry about the birthday dress that a certain someone picked for me. It doesn't zip up well, but I am completely in awe of it. Oh, the little curveballs life throws at us in the middle of happy realizations and moments!

Settling For Happiness!

“HAPPINESS [is] ONLY REAL WHEN SHARED” 

― Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild

Be it euphoria or melancholia, I have always had a trouble expressing it. From a shy child to a reclusive teenager, I might have metamorphosed into a rather outgoing adult (MAYBE!), but I faltered in expressing things. Always.

Strangely, I was never troubled in putting my emotions in words. All I needed was a pen and a paper.

I believed it was the best I did.

In a nutshell, I would write everything in a journal, pretending the journal was my best friend, hoping my bright pink journal would be happy at my success, and gloomy during my shoddy times. Of course, it was not!

I might as well thank my stars for being blessed with a company of great friends. That did not pull me out of this misery either. My inability to explain even the most exquisite things was beyond my comprehension, however, my flair at expressing even the most mundane things with grandiosity surprised me. 

Much ado about nothing.

I reckon the stars had a different plan for me. 

I cannot handle extremities, and quite presumably, I tend to push people away during those situations. But people around me never left me alone--they urged me to talk about things that troubled or mattered, they hovered around me wondering if I would ever let them into my world. And I did.

It could be a simple text from your friend saying she is proud of what you do, or opening shopping bags with your best friend, sharing happiness has found its way into my life for all its intents and purposes. Amidst all the chaos of euphoria, mood swings, melancholia, I have also discovered one person who doesn't squeal in joy along with me; that person still taunts me in my joy. But it doesn't matter because happiness is pure when shared with that person.

I have never realized happiness would be this beautiful when shared with you, and I am coming to terms with it. Awkwardly yet happily!

A Way Back Into Love: A Short Story

She watched him as he tossed and turned in bed. His eyes closed, his brows creased, a tiny ray of light from the table lamp danced on his dimple. She wanted to run her fingers on it. 

She looked at him. She looked at him and wondered how things have been changing between them. She thought of the days when her world entirely revolved around this man. She looked at this man, and reminisced all the memories that were spent on the streets, goofing around, falling more and more in love.

She sighed and looked at him, and asked herself, "Is he a stranger now?" 

She put her book away, and turned the light off. 

Yet another night was spent staring at the ceiling. 

The next morning, she woke up to see the other side of the bed vacant. Unoccupied.

She panicked, and rushed out of the bedroom only to find him in the kitchen, making some coffee and whistling a joyous tune. For a moment, she felt she had lost him forever, and the very sight of him made her smile like a child.

He turned back to find her staring at him intently.

Coffee? 

Absolutely!

It rained whole night, leaving them without any choice but to stay indoors. He hated the rain unless she was with him. He hated having coffee unless it was with her. It was a day of his exceptions and even if he was happy, he did not give it away.

As he set the table, she looked at him, something snapped within her and couldn't control her tears any longer.

"Things have changed between us. When I could not find you beside me this morning, I thought you left me for good. I was scared that I would never see you again," she blurted out indistinct words in between her sobs.

He took her arms into his.

"I have spent innumerable sleepless nights going through myriad thoughts. I do not remember at what point of time we started drifting apart, but we did and both of us failed to notice it. 

I miss all that we were, and all that we could be. I want to go back to what we were. Small steps, baby?"

"For you, a thousand times over," she said and squealed in joy. 

"Oh, how I missed this," he knew what he had to do now.

He absorbed the silence around them. He looked at the raindrops dripping on the window sill. He listened to the music that was softly playing in the head. He closed his eyes, and smiled his glorious dimpled smile. 

They found a way back into love!

Of Lost Love, Forgotten Emotions!

“When the sun has set, no candle can replace it.” 

― George R.R. Martin

Sometimes, in a world full of a million people and their zillion dreams, we all drift into a moment where simple things mattered. The moments where we had boundless love, memories that were actually moments, sweet sense of joy, and bitter sadness that held us together.

Lost love. Forgotten emotions. Bittersweet memories. Nostalgia.

It is quite astonishing how the long talks about serendipity, love, heartbreak and the metaphors cannot justify the ethereal feeling of lost love.

While the memories are long gone and the pain has faded, I can still write about the lost love. Fondly!

Love is like a bowl of freshly made ice-cream. An ice-cream that has the best of cream, chocolate chips, and sprinkles. It has an aroma that reminds you of all the best moments in your life.

On a beautiful, rainy day, you sit in your favourite cafe, and savour your bowl of ice-cream. You enjoy it without thinking about anything, and when you finish it, you keep craving for more. Lost love, it ends in a fleeting moment, breaking your heart away, it makes you lose your senses, and after all the pain, you still crave it.

Emotions! So much for being a human.

Lost love, you leave a part of yourself there, and walk out in the storming rain, and this is when you cannot stop thinking about the repercussions, the dire consequences, and oh, the gory future.

You take time. The pain eventually fades. You smile. You are happy.

You take some more time. The pain completely fades. You laugh. You are infectiously happy.

But on odd nights, you hold a glass of whiskey in your hand, and reminisce all the good old moments where simply things made your life beautiful. As you listen to your favourite track by Coldplay, and swoon over Chris Martin's magical voice, you think of all the little moments that made your life alive and pink.

Lost love, amidst all the grandeur and morbid details of life, you made sense. You keep us, the hopeless romantics, emotionally alive. Even when everything makes us numb, the tiny detail of you makes us squeal in the night.

And it is strange how you still make sense in spite of being lost for an eternity!