Gold-starred Love – V


I heard you write poetry.
How would you like to be a poem for a change?




Last night was Tinder night. Friday nights usually are. Hours and hours of swiping left and right. The search, generally, results in sessions of passionate “love making” over the weekend. I get good sex, my body gets all the exercise and the guys usually make me breakfast the next morning. Avocado toast with some fresh orange juice. I have it on my Tinder profile. The breakfast preferences.
I have a lot of other things on there too. Things I like. Like long walks through woods,to add a touch of romance. How I love the smell of grounded coffee beans with a pinch of mint in it and that wistfulness old books seem to exude. Situations I hate. Like when guys immediately hook up on their phones after having sex. Or when they want to talk about how it went. Googled feelings ending in -philes. For dogs, and rains, and night.
I make sure to mention my qualifications. As if my degrees are going to filter my search for other intellectual guys there are.
You will also find links to my social media. My WordPress blog. Facebook. Rarely used Twitter.
Choice of music, qualities a guy must have for the first conversation, and my birthdate too. In bold letters. Just in case some guy decides to end up with a bunch of lilies at my door.
All this…and a full-fledged disclaimer of how I strictly mean just sleeping around and nothing more than that.
And that’s how it has been. I like guys, they like me back. He walks in with a bottle of cheap wine, we fuck like animals, over cigarettes and alcohol. He walks out on last Sunday afternoon with a hope of meeting again. But neither of us call each other. Inspite of having and knowing every little detail about the other person. That’s how it has always been…where we search for love with wires instead of strings.

When a guy tells you he loves you…

when a guy tells you he loves you
he will never
mouth those words
he will beat about the bush
till you push
him to an edge
and then, blurt it out
stammering and stuttering
i think… i think i love you
but trust me
he has thought
and he has thought it through
talked to himself
a thousand times too
and mustered all the courage
to vaguely say it to you

when a guy tells you he loves you
he might talk about cricket
or the cold food
laugh at your lipstick selection
whining about his parking ticket
but he has looked it all up
research done
about lipsticks and books
and the perfect cologne for you
so, change, redo, reapply
when something, he says,
doesn’t look nice.

when a guy tells you he loves you
he will not take you home
at a family party
with his bunch
but he has had conversations in his head
introducing you to his mom
at a private Sunday lunch
not as his girlfriend, no…
he will say your name
with love and pride
and, look in his eyes
then you will see the love
you were waiting for
all you life.

when a guy tells you he loves you
he wouldn’t reply immediately
or call you back that often
he knows you read between the lines
he will frame an answer
reeking of denial
knowing that he will lose
at every single trial
don’t you miss me? naah!
aren’t you jealous? no way!
were you crying? psshht no!
he knows you will read them
and see through the lies
and send him a hug
a little love in disguise
and ruffle up his hair
and utter into his ears
i’m here sweetie

when a guy tells you he loves you
he will be his complete self
happy and ecstatic
weird and crazy
his passion on the tables
the fire for his quirks
without fear
you will stand by him
he will cry and shed a tear
in your company
understanding you will see him
and his love for little… simple things
just like every other human being

when a guy loves you…
he will fumble
toy with the words
look down on the ground
but he will not be unsure
he did everything
he wouldn’t usually do for no girl
he molded himself
into a different man
worked on his dream a little harder
and on his emotions a little better
he will become you friend
more than a lover
your one stop person
for now and forever
when the time comes
he will resort to ambiguity
and still talk about cricket and meat
when a guy loves you…
not his words
but his eyes will show through.


Gold-starred Love – IV


People think love should be loud. Screaming at you in pictures of romantic dates and dedicated songs and quotes written for someone to someone else.
A silent dinner under the stars, holding each other’s hands is something that validates them to tell the world they are in love.
They walk through library aisles finding love hidden in stolen stares of some unknown stranger. Or at weddings, or stairs at some random place, trains and metros in just a glance from someone.
But, ask me what it should actually be like. Love. One without pictures and songs and romantic dinners. One without sleeping in each other’s beds. One without morning walks and Sunday brunches.
I love you like they all love their other halves.
My love just stays in the closet and cries itself to sleep while they sit under the stars enjoying a bland meal.


Gold-starred Love – III


You are the trouble I want to get into.
All my life I planned and plotted each and every little step I took. Proceeding with caution. Noting down the least important details and thinking twice before implementing the most trivial decisions.
But, there was… is something so tempting about you, an enigma, that lured the careful me.
You are the kind of the reckless an adventurous heart desires. It is like one morning, you wake up and you want to scale the highest peak there is. Unprepared. Foolhardy, yes… But there’s the fun…that unpredictability of the beauty and the element of surprise.
All of that combined together, manifested into you, when I first laid my eyes on you.
So, without any barriers of body, sex, gender or the conventions that the society has put on us with our default sexual branding, I chose to love you and dreamt of waking up to you every morning of my life.
So when I say you are the trouble I want to get into, believe me, I most certainly want to…



People say I write well. They read my work and ponder over my words. Realizing how right I am. How I strike a chord with what they feel. Or felt. I get messages, telling me that that relate to everything that I go through. My words mirror their thoughts and experiences. I smile and reply a polite thank you. I feel good about writing something that people can relate to, but I don’t feel happy.
Why you ask?
Look at my works… It exudes pain and sorrow like one exudes confidence. Left over remains of a broken heart mingle with the sleepless nights inso beautifully describe. My tears on the pillow put me to sleep. Words are my escape plans…from this delusional world that we live in. Where we try to find love in sugar coated good night messages, self love in the likes, wit in minimum characters of a tweet and validation in Tumblr quotes.
Delusion and desolation.
And that’s what they all find when they say I relate to it.
Now, isn’t that a little sad?

A night a day…

So, the dark scares you?
When the night falls slowly outside your window?
Or is it the closed spaces?
Locked doors and bolted windows?
When you can hear the wind whistle outside
And people on the streets can’t see you.

But we all live like that, don’t we?
Crying silently, under the sheets
Stuffing our faces in pillows to muffle our heart wrenching screams
Suffocating ourselves.
With our frail, fragile fingers
And meek thoughts.
We lie still,
On our lonely beds.
Eyes shut.
Seeing shapes in the dark.
Shapes darker than the night.
Breaths held still.
Lips shut tight.
Timid hearts.
Sailing through the night…
Every single night.
In torrential rains
And stormy seas
Compasses haywire
And the skies disappear
From over our heads.

But honey,
We were all 15 and in love.
In creased uniforms and oily ponytails.

And ever since then
We have lived through nights like these…
With known and unknown people.
In known and unknown beds.
With old and new thoughts
Dark and lit like the moon.
Nights with full moons.
Nights with new moons.

The early light of dawn lights up the horizon.
You are still fighting sleep.
Tossing and turning.
Hush now…
Lie still and breathe.
Save you struggle for the many more nights to come.
A night a day, Honey.