🧬Shallow-linial

These people seldom write. As they are afraid of making a mistake. Cocooned with fake-ism and hiding their drawbacks under a tough exterior, they live medals on their chest. But they are low on confidence af.

Sometimes, they pick up a book thinking that reading will improve their writing skills; but they go to the last page of the book, check the 'page number', and 'give awkward smile' (read 'pee in their pants').

Few muster up courage and hide under the garb of 'readers'. How? They skip sentences and paragraphs while reading. To give meaning to their own understanding, they read reviews, and create their own touchy review. Silently massaging their ego, are 'likes' -- one shallow liking another shallow.

Other days, they browse for quotes, check synonym of words, create their own phrase or sentence, check Grammarly, or write one-to-two words, or best 'emoticons'. Thanks to this lot, the importance of effort and gaining knowledge has reached a nadir. Lazily but steadily, they are staining the existence.

A new world order is getting created. Shallow-linial by shallow-linial.

🔗Even a father has an umblical cord

Unheard, unseen, and uncut
Under the debris of dreams that rut

It foxes and feeds in its own way

As there is no bigger joy
than seeing your kid at play

👫Happy 10th Anniversary

It doesn't take much to make you smile

A tuck inside the blanket
A peck on the cheek

Listening to your sweet voice while you talk
Holding your little finger while we walk

A ride on the bike
And even roadside panipuri
Is all that it takes

It truly doesn't take much to make you smile*

* And that also includes all your splurging at the salons,
malls, and fine dining restaurants.

👤Alone

Drawing figures in air
Calling a bike your pair

Talking when no one's there
Walking alone everywhere

Hopping from chair to chair
Shell of a turtle, speed of a hare

Being alone is fair
Because you came from there

ℹ️I

Like a half-moon on a nail
neither here nor there

Like a portmanteau word
a bit of this & a bit of that

Like a partially wet smoke
either fag or nag

Like in-your-30s
neither young nor old

Being average
is in a class of its own

Don't give up on anger

It is like a newborn.
Embrace it with love.

It was nurtured within you
& pain got it out.
Don't leave it alone.

It doesn't know this cruel
world & will cry out aloud.
Allow it to be.

It knows no right from
wrong & whether the nipple
spits out milk or blood, it
sucks all.
Let it satiate its hunger.

Let it grow into a
Frankenstein
& let it kill its master.
Don't rob it of its destiny.

The Mowgli Girl

These hazel coloured sockets can scare even a werewolf in pitch dark, that sun-kissed skin seems as if hiding many burns within, and greasy-hair that wants to shine even if the light cancels itself... she is like any other aspiring girl which in many ways she isn't. And what she isn't is what defines and defies her.

Her last name is Gandhi. Alas! Her traits are all antithetical. On any given day, she can run behind a dog, match its pace, fight with it, scare it, and steal its bone without breaking into much sweat; and the very next day, she narrates you that story in such an animated way… as if she is Didi and you are meant to be her Dexter. With so much passion she narrates her stories  that sometimes you just sit and wonder… what her life would be without stories... and if... stories had any life without her! Stories are so much a part of her life… such… that together they seem like a pair of conjoined twins, and might forever bury the ‘art of story-telling’ with her demise.   

She may not have given a thought to the purpose of her life… but may be… just may be… it is her destiny to transcribe stories of nature, sing songs of a perishable yet fruitful life, dance on the face of despair or a fair, and gather all the scattered happiness and throw it in air without any wrinkle on her brow.

She has a unique gift of switching between talking sense and nonsense; with such effortless ease that at times it is tricky to distinguish in which state she is in. And the real trick is not to guess it. Rather just flow with it.

But all said and done… she’s the girl-next-door for one and all… however… sometimes people love to negate her. Assuming she didn't have a vocal chord... she might have as well come across as an animal. Such is her Mowglish connect with these creatures sometimes… that she can any time demonstrate the audacity of lifting up a piglet sucking its mother’s nipple; put her finger into a yawning Alsatian’s mouth, bite a kitten’s earlobe and even sit on a crocodile and demand a ride.

Phewwwww… it’s hard to close-end her personality type… and this piece is getting boring anyways. But then you know whom to put the blame on.