Falling in Love


Sometimes I wonder if I’ll be able to forget the man I am in love with.

Do you know how shattered I feel when our relationship is called a myth?

While he is a tricenarian, I recently celebrated my silver jubilee.

Age is just a number, he says, but is our relation an interlude

in the one he has with the woman he lives with.


It started with a conversation at a dinner, which lasted hours

Time just flew by while whiskey and wine kept pouring in.

My mind, though, was stuck at an interminable monologue

Reminding me every second that I was committing a sin.


Office was all about exchanging glances and smiles,

But I was busy weaving dreams of him and I walking down the aisle.

I imagined our home together with kids and lounge

While, he discussed dinner with his wife and skimmed through files.


It’s been months and ours is no more a random office affair.

We have shared kisses and made love.

He says his ain’t a happy marriage and his eyes don’t lie.

But he is afraid to drag his child to the court or worst,  bid goodbye.


There’s a guilt that’s envelopes me every night,

his wife shouts expletives and asks me if my actions are right.

I want to tell her how sorry I am and that she has a carte blanche on him,

Instead, I think of him holding me against the wall and kissing me tight.


Love is unintelligible. Infidelity is a crime.

But love has no boundaries. Ours is one paradigm.

Yes, I fell in love with a married man and this is our little secret

Call it blasphemy, but I shall love him till the sun shines.



Situated in the North of India, Himachal Pradesh has myriad landscapes that make for a perfect ‘me- time’. Kullu, Manali, Shimla, Dharamshala, Dalhousie are some cities which see tourists throughout the year. But I chose a small tranquil village on the map for my vacation.

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Somewhere in Himachal Pradesh

Bir, commonly known as Bir Billing is a small village in Himachal Pradesh. Underrated thus relatively undisturbed. After spending 6 years in south India which has a lot of beaches (peninsular region), the thought of being in the mountain was mesmerising. Breeze, mountains & river; that’s your company for the journey. And damn no TRAFFIC!

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The hotel was located at a hilly yet ideal place. On it’s left was the bus stop, on its right was the road that led to the village, and the windows gave the picture-perfect view of lush green mountains. I quickly took a hot bath, gulped down a tomato soup and left with my backpack for an experience which will remain etched in my memory.

Paragliding, that’s what I had come to do in Bir. Bir billing has been marked the second highest paragliding site in the world and trust me the view from the top explains why. The heights, along with the cool climate of Bir Billing makes it most suitable for any air borne gliding sport. Plus, the wind is extremely smooth which helps in perfect take-off and landing.


Take off site 


I went to the local tourist guide shop located near the bus stop. The place could fit only 5 people at a time. While I stood outside waiting for my turn, I noticed the manager explaining the paragliding rules to a group of European tourists. Eyebrows frowned, open mouth and constant stare at the computer screen. Yes, fear was dripping from their faces. For a minute I was sceptical if I should do it. Come on, you have to accept that the sport is risky. But then the thought lasted just for a minute.  I too went through the tutorial video and signed the forms which basically said, ‘the company won’t be liable for my death’.

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View from  the drive way to the BIR billing spot

The take-off site was a 15min-20min drive from the tourist guide shop. I was anxious and terrified to death. I bugged my pilot the entire way asking him how dangerous the sport was. Who wouldn’t be if your travel guide leaves you with a statement, ‘If you don’t jump off the cliff at the right moment, only ambulance will come to pick you up.’

Anyway, the most awaited moment had finally come. There I was standing at the cliff, hooked to the parachute glider.  There was a mix of adrenaline rush and relaxation. A few seconds before the jump I thought, ‘It’s time I ease out. Fwww’. And moments later, there I was hanging in the sky, 8000ft from the sea level. In the company of breeze and the lush green valley, all I wanted was to build a home in the sky.

Shot on a GoPro during the ride.
The Landing site

The landing site is huge thus welcoming safe landing. After that one heck of an experience, I spent my evening exploring the village. Bir has Tibetan refugee settlement. Besides the unspoiled nature, you would find lining the street of Bir a handful of guest houses, fields filled with colourful Tibetan flags, monks coming out of years-old-monasteries, people peeping from their small fruit wine shops & the tourist guides wandering with their customers. You would be filled with the aroma of Tibetan food specially the Tibetan momos.

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With a population in hundreds, the street is exquisitely quiet and pleasant. Simple wooden houses and farming way of life in the mountains offers an insight into a more traditional way of life. A bicycle ride would be the best to explore the valley. If you’re craving fresh mountain air, adventure with a touch of history and culture thrown in, then perhaps Bir should be your next adventure holiday.

#HP #Himachal #BIR #Paragliding #Travel

When I saw you.


via Daily Prompt: Bubble


Photo Courtesy: google

I don’t remember how you looked,

the first time I saw you.

But mom says you were happy,

And invited every peer you knew.



Home was decorated with lights

And people shinned in glittery clothes.

I and you were dressed in yellow

And mom in a saree with pink rose.  



I cherish the photographs of you and I

with my little fingers tucked in your hand,

I felt protected and cared in the bubble

Which was no less than a fairyland.



During my teens and your thirties,

We both admired your dimple.

I turned twenty and you fifty,

Your smile was still prominent but wrinkled.



I remember how you looked,

the last time I saw you.

Pale but in pain, lying unconscious on bed

With injections piercing your tissue.



The beep from monitor was the only

sound that echoed in the room.

Your heartrate slowed down

And panic arose among people in white costume.



With tears rolling down and sweat dripping,

Memories and flashbacks blended.

With your eyes shut deep,

One chapter of my life ended.

Listening- a better skill!



I scrunched my eyes and clinched my teeth,
Rolled my tongue and chuckled beneath.
I kept murmuring and completely forgot
That it’s your day and only you should be allowed to speak.


There’s a turmoil of words lying inside
Blessed with two ears but only one mouth to confide?
Then someone told to keep my mouth shut
Because to be a good speaker, listening is the best guide.


There is no solution to the complications
When everybody has lost their patience.
Before envy and perfidy takes over, I shall tell you,
Sometimes what really helps is a one way communication.


Look into their eyes, nod along and cover a mile
Hold your emotions within yourself for a meanwhile.
Don’t give unnecessary advice,
Just listen to their pain and offer them a virtuous smile.


Don’t say you understand, when you don’t.
You think it would help? No it won’t.
Sympathies are easy to offer,
Empathizing is a better gesture to be shown.



To every person surrounded by imaginary locks,
I am there to listen if you want to talk
Be it a silly fight or a long buried pain
Come share it on a coffee or a long walk.

A letter to my dear sister

Taken with Lumia Selfie
A chapter which started a few years ago,
Has not ended yet.
Found the missing ‘hero’.
No, there’s no Romeo,
It’s all about my Juliet.  


The finest memory we have created
I don’t have an evidence of it.
But it’s still fresh and every time I reminisce it
Nostalgia takes over me
Bit by bit.
Your strange comfort in discomfort,
Has always made me wonder about you.
How do you manage to be always so beautiful and full of laughter?
Do you take medicines?
Or you are hiding something about which I don’t have a clue.



Calling you a friend 
Feels like an insult to our relation
It resembles perfidy, an awkward jolt and betrayal.
You are a sister from another mother
And almighty’s unusual creation.  


Though it’s been just a few days since I left
But we have come a long way from we began.
There’s so much left to say,
I will tell you all about it, 
When I will see you again.

Reign of the bull

With eyes tightly closed and lips marginally opened, my tongue tasted something sour. It perhaps was the sweat dripping of my philtrum or the last night’s food left on the edge of lips. My delicate ears were almost jeopardized by multiple irksome sounds. As the gentle breeze brushed the epidermis of my cheek, the dead and slob pores began to rejuvenate.  The neurons in my body were enjoying the process of slow activation, until the wind reached my nostrils and I was awakened by the smell of raw fish.  
I stood near the window and took a seriatim glimpse of world. Though it was eight in the morning, my shadow rather being slant, stood right beneath me (So imagine the temperature).  Sweat on the back of my neck were chasing each other. I gasped and skimmed the words written on the billboard which stood in front of my hotel – “Kalakātāẏa sbāgata” (Welcome to Kolkata).
I had gone to Kolkata to attend my friend’s wedding. It was my first visit to the oldest capital of the nation. Unlike my hometown, the city was extremely chaotic and impatient. My friend’s resident was just 2kms away from the railway station. Therefore, to avoid inconvenience I decided to stay in a hotel beside the junction.
The function was supposed to being at 12 pm which gave me ample amount of time to take insights of this exuberating city. Carrying a mug of dark, exotic espresso in hand, I went out to the adjacent balcony and rested my elbows on the exquisitely polished railing. The railway station was on the left and the scenery was cluttered with people on footpaths and vehicles on road. As I shifted my gaze to the right, I saw a long queue of yellow taxis with a few private vehicles in between, standing on the road. The drivers were honking and yelling from their cars’ windows. The subject of the matter was a black giant bull sitting in the middle of a narrow road.
It was impossible for people to commute without moving the cattle. A few passerby tried to move it by making some facetious sounds but nothing fell of deaf ears. The absence of traffic police made the traffic worse. Nobody went close with the fear of being hit by its horns. After a few bizarre attempts, people made their way to stone pelting. Suddenly, two wiry men dressed in rugged jeans and shirts came out of restaurants for rescue. I couldn’t figure out, what made those slender men attack a bull, especially with no weapon or shield in hand. Looking at their daunting attitude, everybody was hopeful of their success.
The performance started with artists taking their positions. One stood in the front and the other at the back of the bull. They followed the modified version of “divide and rule” i.e. distract and rule. As the man in the front tried to retrieve bull’s attention, man at the back tried to push it. They tried almost every position to move the bull which weighed double the their sizes .  As a point of acclamation, the cattle did get distracted but the result was different from expected. The cattle hit the frail man with its tail. One try, second try, third try and it went on but the cattle sat there like a fragile king. It almost felt like the bull was bestowing the two men. This went on for almost an hour. The performance which had begun with immense enthusiasm, drained down but the bull continued   to remain on its throne. 
The queue eventually settled with an alternative route. The clock struck 11. Before rushing towards the room, I took a last glimpse of the bull and titled the hilarious performance of the two frail men and cattle “reign of the bull”.
Image source:

That I thought was my world!!


Image source: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/d5/c7/21/d5c7210650c4f9e156d83e3b5a5909ba.png



The bowl of water

I thought, was my world.

I loitered around with no one to be afraid off.

Soon, my feet began to walk

Eyes blessed with vision and hair absolute curled.


The warm lap of my mother

And numbers of toys lying around

I thought, this was my world.

But she gave me books which read ABCD

And eventually I was introduced to verb, adjective and noun.


I couldn’t take my eyes off

The bench on which sat a mister

I thought he was my world and gave him a note of love.

With handwriting complete bizarre

He replied, “Oh dear! You are a lovely sister”.


My finger was burdened with a shining ring

On the day I walked through aisle.

With increased responsibilities, days became busy and nights sleepless

This, I thought was my world

Until the mirror showed the impact of change in my lifestyle.


I tried to define boundaries

At every phase of life.

But life gave me opportunities

Even at stage when I could hear the cracks of my bone

And fingers incapable of holding knife.


The process of respiration has slowed down

With memories flashing in and out.

But that’s not the end of my world

After all I still have to take

A selfie with pout.




With a pint of happiness,
Unbiased laughter
And a piece of moon in hand.
Call it a house or paradise,
From the scraps, let’s create our dreamland.

While arranging the scattered routes in your eyes,
I found my home.
I owe you, a share of my every morsel,
And rights on my living,
My nights or while sun sprinkles its rays on skies.

In a motion as slow as snail,
I can hear the footsteps arriving.
Latch the doors and take out the piano.
It’s time to create some jingles and mesmerizing melodies,
For the life standing at the door, absolute blissful and thriving.

Rain shall be the curtains,
Branches will replace the fan.
With no walls around, windows shall still open wide.
No turmoil, no arguments at all
Only happiness shall sustain in the life that just began.

The construction requires only love,
No bricks, cement, or bundle of money.
Half shall embody you and half a replica of me.
Though the route is tough
The destination endorses harmony.

In search of laughter
That enlightens the edge of your pacifying face.
With every minute spent with you
My face found the curve, arriving
Which my memories had forgotten to trace.

With your sacred lessons
You have molded a clay into a piece of art,
Today, I stand on my feet tall and erect.
I promise to stay by your side,
As now, you have become the heartbeat of my heart.


Common Man



Characters are fixed
In the books which tell stories.
It’s either who relish luxury,
Called ‘The elite’
Or the unfortunate poor with not much worries.

I am a common man
Not privileged with the power of money,
Or sound sleep.
In the world so unfair,
There are no stories of mine; neither sad nor funny.

With body suffering with agitation,
I twist and tussle in my bed.
Currencies remain fixed in my pockets,
Whether I work as a labor or employee,
Under a shelter or no shed.

I am unable to read the lines on my palm,
A future, blithe or vile?
A few dollars is all I have saved,
Let me live with it,
No more I can take cunning guile.

In a world so filthy and mean
I want to inhale the air of sanity.
With every sweat I shed,
I dream to build a divine nation
Replacing caste, color, creed with pure humanity.

I dream big to make the world great,
Support my way; together let’s make a plan.
Neither give me names nor call me rogue;
Write my story with a title,
‘I am a common man’.




It’s that time of the year,

When eyes are glued to television.

Dummies from parties contest

For a seat in that white lofty building;

 Forming government with either majority or collision.

Campaigns run for months,

Within cities; both small and big.

Usage of ingenious slogans,

With hundreds of promises to be fulfilled,

But the reality says, they are just prig.

It’s a war without weapons,

Showcasing the power of money.

Rallies, advertisements, free gifts are

Mere tools of temporary software used,

In a system, popularly called Democracy.

Then begins rounds of ‘blame game’

Or how channels call it, ‘debate’.

They rake up each other’s old wounds,

Trying to save their own grave

From people who decide their fate.

The value of the currencies fluctuate,

Oscillating the economies of nations.

With every leader elect,

Affects can be seen on immigrants and expatriates

Globalization or trade relations.

It happens once in a leap year,

Once voted, there are no corrections.

An example has been set by ‘The super power’,

With Mr. President about to create history

After the historic ‘Election’.