Set of words 

Let me read you
 the opposite of poetry.

I pull out a letter knife 
And toy with red-lettered words
Till I no longer have a thirst for the apple juice
Or the Antarctic sky.

Whatever comes up
The blood or blues
I gulp it down with white wine
Until my feet are cold, enough for sleep,
I dream 

And then I weep in poetry. 



There walked the light into the mist. Intruding. A deep mustard shade—they put hatching babies under those. They glint every night in the nurse’s eyes. Behind her, a dark window. The windows are most silent and the nights always darker in a hospital. It is a night like this. It must be getting weaker, the streetlight under which I walked. The mist nestles around it. It looks like a phantom beehive. An old man’s beard. I walk into the violet color of the night that has dropped to the road. I am under it. I am above it. And if I turn my head back, there it will be again, the light being smothered. Am I a moth?

I am most certainly not. I am a curious girl and there are very busy men in front of me. These are the photographers. Sure they wear Paparazzi hats and raincoats, but they are not your regular ones. These are disciplined. They respect the night; they are the simple stars with twinkling flashlights. An elaborate machine, a pyramid. Each man with a camera covering his face. Anonymous. Inhuman. They face a cardboard door. One they put up at school annual days. I always wanted to go to an annual-day. Can I?

‘No. No women allowed.’

It is not an annual day. They have men inside the hall being not-men. Did you know that French used to have a grand carnival where they let out criminals and madmen and prostitutes. What does a carnival for men without their male society will look like? Nothing they would let me see.

I circle around. Waiting.

It begins. The photographers collapse. There is chaos. There are other people like me, circling around. I see my friend and she has to shout to make herself audible. How does it feel to be not behind your eyes? She makes me feel that way. Her hand is heavy on my neck. And the carnival inside is getting louder. There are all emotions present inside. Hysterical laughter, wailing, wrathful voices. But she must not let me see. There is blood inside. A pool of ketchup maybe, diluted with water. They are throwing it beyond the walls. It is flying in the air. She is saving me. Pushing me away. I want to fall it on me though. To wipe off the afternoon from me. It’s crashing. How can it crash? The spillage is heavy on our heads, as if from the sky. What are they doing? I scream.

‘They are enacting the womb’, someone says.

I stand in the night, no longer silent.

It is done.

There is only mirth inside the hall now. For the first time I can even see the barrier. They’ve dropped their curtains. They look like doctors after delivering a baby of a giant. There comes a man with blood dripping off like sweat, tailing under his hair. He is exceptionally charming. Awash. My friend knows him. They smile at each other in congratulations and stare at me. There are papers in his hand. He’s asking me for the toll. What toll I say?

‘For watching’

I am proud of understanding most things in my life. This was certainly not one. My friend accuses me of something I can no longer hear.

How do they win?

Through confusion.


I had to go. I had to go.


[Based on an actual dream]

Introspection Today: Part 1


When I look at people in a very general fashion, I cannot distrust them. It is like I have begun to run through their veins, I speak out their words and I erupt from their lips, a joyful moan. I remember reading about a girl who absolutely hated second generation middle-aged people’s butts because them, she peculiarly points out, had the potential of squeezing into every creak and corner of a jam-packed metro. I could only respond, ‘man I have no sense of private space’.

We do not, more or less think philosophically about disgust or love which we tend to feel around crowded places. But I say, the whole experience engrosses me the most. Just as I’ve loved certain smiles and conversations, on the other hand, I’ve also wished a lot of people, per say, chewing or giggling in a certain manner around me to instantly drop dead. But that is the peculiarity of society, it recognizes insanity only if it sustains through time. A little murderous or incestuous thought, here and there and I’ll tell you Freud must have had a hard time in studying the psyche and how to classify it as extraordinary. For Lewis Carroll is right, it has always been dark and as it amounts to it, ‘we all are mad here’.

If you are disgusted by my opinions, I am certain that you’re unaware of your unconscious mind. Mine used to play tricks on me all the time, until recently when I decided to give it a head on, we are on peace for now. Unconscious mind must look like your mysterious orient, against your reasonable structured mind (Edward Said will appreciate the joke) but that does not mean you must lock it away and keep it in bounds (as far as you can help it, I mean I get it that it is called unconscious for some reason). The effect is to make peace with it or simply, just let it breathe. Most people cringe at dark thoughts that ought to be associated with unconscious mind, yet it is children, Freud associates with Id…yes, our very own angels (Id derives of unconscious parts of our psyche). No wonder, my parents still don’t take me seriously.

But I must not confuse you with the binary of reasonable and unreasonable or perhaps, dark and light. It is a dangerous trap that society creates. But how can I blame you, I came out of this entanglement, very recently. I was thinking about my position in the society and found myself in the middle at almost all levels. I belong to middle class, I remain neither happy nor too sad and lastly, I am neither too masculine nor too feminine. Other trivial things I have excused. In conclusion, I realized (which is a very simple idea actually but yet simple ideas are the one which remain out of reach) that everybody ought to be at middle more or less depending upon the things they are competing with. A beggar can be richer than a person in utter debt and yet he can be poorer than his friends who perhaps, earn more than him. So ratios and numbers and other blahs that people like me try not to get entangled in, is what I finally concluded–decides the middle. You can be in middle anywhere.

But then, I asked my friend (in the worst possible articulation) as to what does she think about this whole affair?

‘Yeah but binaries are social construct’

Sure I went into a trance. It is not like I didn’t know what she was saying but she absolutely did startle my inner world. The world was new again. And I was once again, unsure of the principles I live by.

Actually, her and my thought spectrum were not as far as she had thought. For truly, I too had concluded that beggar is neither rich nor poor. And thus relativity occurs due to certain constructions in the society that must force me to see in a certain manner.

Well, I’m sorry if your head hurts. Mine hurts too but I am used to such introspections.

Unconscious minds sure are dark and mysterious places simply because they are out of reach in comparison to the conscious mind, nonetheless they are a construct and not somatic in nature, therefore, it is important for us to not categorize them as unnecessary and unreasonable.

Dreams seem unreasonable precisely because they do not work on the system of boundaries or binaries. Freud notes on Id:

‘…contrary impulses exist side by side, without cancelling each other out…there is nothing in the id that could be compared with negation…nothing in the id which corresponds to the idea of time’

For a long time, I used to wake up in dreams only to observe that the person moving with certain awareness of the metaphysicality of a dream is someone who characterize herself as me, is not actually me. I know—weird? Exactly. This person was a personification of Id that did such deeds in my dreams that my conscious mind ran away with its tail between its legs. But I am certainly not joking, I could not (with complete decisiveness) associate with that person in my dream yet I also cannot deny that the person of the dream was indeed me.

However, I did try to conciliate with this dream phantom of Id. I made a point to accept it and I kid you not, it very well worked. Now whenever, I have such dreams, I no longer feel the division. I feel completely united within my desires and reason.

As I positively look back at the history of puritanism and of all the matter that must decide my heaven-hell outgoing, I go onto give out a heartiest chuckle.

After sunset


A car that would remind you of its colour

Just by its

Sneaking into the night

Into which, people actually switch off their Tvs

Before they try to escape into the gaps

Found between the plump old cushions

Of a couch that will hug you better than a bed

Usually peach (by the effort).

It sounds as if an ever-sleeping road

Would wipe off its lingering drool

And would dive back again in the man-territory

Exhaling a deep long excruciating sigh

–This sound is the—

Car that reminds us of its colour

Smoothly passing by.

My left foot is then suddenly aware

It twitches at the vibration of this fire-less exhale

And I think I am falling for the ninth time in the night

From a trolley car girdling down a

Roller coaster,

Whose driver unfortunately slept on


Photo credits: www.inspirefirst.com

How To Deduce Dreams

From past few days, I have been experiencing most vivid of my dreams and the feelings attached to them are so real, that it is making opinions on people and things, permanent in my head.

It is my habit to…let’s say “deduce” the causes of my dreams, which means I am actually able to make out, what I saw. For example I saw an airport in my dream, not because I was concentrating way too hard upon it when awake, but because it went to unconscious memory-box since I never really paid enough attention to the posts on social networking sites that would bring curiosity or any other thought in my head which could possible register this image of  airport in my head to the conscious-memory box. For my part, it is a proven fact that when we sleep, our brain sort out memories. And then it is also a fact that our unconscious mind tries to contact us during the dream process without alerting the conscious mind.

Now I’ll explain it to you by describing you my dream.

WARNING: I’ve experienced the most weirdest of dreams that you can ever imagine. 

Sometimes I wonder, why these are so amusing, I could pass a lifetime musing about their sheer creativeness. I swear on my mother, this is real. Here:

I went out with my cousin sister to buy something important and as you know, everything-makes-sense-in-dreams, we end up at an airport. I clearly remember that it had walls like that of a lobby of a fancy hotel, black shiny marble-brick shaped reflecting the diffused white lights of the day. We were strolling that place as we were on some kind of trip when I saw Benedict Cumberbatch (Please don’t make fun of me, I am serious), basically he is my fandom-god right now. I was not really surprised to see him at some distance behaving very normally as any other celebrity does however, feeling very happy. And then I did, what I usually do whenever I want to take a photograph in public i.e. pretending I am playing a game while keeping the phone low and moving around in a casual manner in a hope to set focus right. I remember capturing the photograph that ended up headless and a blurry version of shiny black suit, white shirt and black tie. And then, I don’t know what struck me, I was made conscious of this mad streak inside me which wanted to actually CONFRONT HIM. Therefore, I started running towards him like a man chasing his stolen car, thereby finally meeting him. BUT HE BEHAVES VERY NORMALLY! Does not shows any unreasonable affection towards me!And hey, Here comes my cousin, the opportunist, since I have asked for a photograph. And suddenly, I am clueless that whose phone will perform the task of taking a photograph, actually considering if it will be Benedict’s phone and then finally gesturing towards my sister who would lend us her phone because me and Benedict, both agree that my phone has a bad picture quality. (Bwahaha!). Next, we know that he has to leave somewhere else, so he won’t get clicked right now but supposedly (I don’t know whose idea it was) we are to follow him for a while as he is surrounded by bunch of other people. So as I follow, I finally start doing what fans actually do. Saying precisely this : “Oh god, now I can die in peace” as he smiles back awkwardly. Next thing, (Please don’t kill me) I see very strange kind of, I don’t know “ride” (my dreams are full of rides ironic to real life which is just bland) It is an autorikshaw, only found in India that can glide on water as it makes its way across through this narrow way filled with water, surrounded by natural environment. And next thing we see is that people are getting on it and I am excited to sit next to him, when my sister hops in and take that seat. But fortunately, I don’t start crying, just disappointed and accepting when I see a space for one more in that strange ride like thing which I accidentally invented in my dream.

Ah, it was Really awkward then. Too much of adjusting. I prefer forgetting this one except for the ride, which even my unconscious mind rejoice and has thus presented it to me in two simultaneous but different dreams. (Though the second time I was like-No its too much of a trouble to try this ride again.) So as the journey finally ends, I see myself standing in front of dear god of the fandom, while he sat facing right side, supported by a pillar and surrounded by people which are a big blur. I am shooting down theories and questions at him where I am I believe trying to sound unique and not just a mainstream fan. But then, I am not really sure he is listening to me or not. I thought not, but then at the end, I see him nodding still facing the right direction but before he could say something, he is interrupted as he excuses himself and leave, of-course leaving the wish of a photograph unfulfilled.


Benedict Cumberbatch: I was watching season 3 marathon of Sherlock starring Benedict Cumberbatch and also because I spent rest of the day browsing  him on Facebook. Now I remember the days where I actually wanted dreams about a specific person I fangirl about. But it was a failure until now. Its not that I am advising you to try it, since every mind work uniquely, but yes if you are constantly things into your conscious-memory box, its leakage to the unconscious memory-box becomes more smooth because absence of vacant space for thoughts. So when you are truly obsessing over someone whole day, according to probability, it is likely that you would dream about them. Therefore this happened.

Meeting: Now why is that, I met him in such a real situation which is not really dreamy and also not as a fictional character but as an actor?

I would say, Denial.

I remember thinking to myself that I would never like to meet him ever, since I am a bit socially awkward and would not know how to react to such an imaginary situation. Therefore, somewhere in my mind I was blocking this possibility which then made my mind sense a pattern for a problem. Again its a fact that our mind tries to solve problems to the situation when we are sleeping. This is because when we are dreaming, we are not aware that we are dreaming. Hence, when your mind wants to show you that you reconciled with an old friend, you actually feel a bit relieved when you wake up. So that’s why I saw it.

That weird ride: If there is any symbolism in my dreams ever, it would be this. To me it is accepting my weirdness. Its like arranging a confrontation of my two different and maybe conflicting parts of my mind that created the problem in the first place. Consider this, the ride symbolizes my weird creativity and on the other hand, Cumberbatch symbolizes a part of my mind which I consider sacred and keep safe from the awkwardness of the world. My sister becomes the mediator who arranges the confrontation and the smooth water represents that after all, the union of mind is underway. Its really hard to remember how I made this ride thingy but I can tell you rides and narrow staircases are very usual part of my dreams. Drop me an opinion about them, will you?

Photograph: Its a fact that I believe, like many other girls, I can never have a perfect photograph. Also, Cumberbatch in a convention appeared in photographs with fans. So we know, from where the wish is derived.

Now you may ask, how the hell do you remember this?

It is very scientific actually, according to psychological researches, if you try to remember your dreams more often, your passage way between unconscious memory box and conscious memory box becomes smooths, to so much extent that (my addition) that memories flood back to you like a whim. Once you have become natural at recalling, you’ll see while remembering a single dream, the memories of the older dreams would come back in a manner or say an epiphany which will force you to think harder if it was reality or just a dream. The reasons behind the dream objects becomes clearer too.


(you should have seen my face.)

Here is him at the London’s Heathrow Airport airport, doesn’t it look like black tiles in the background?

Hats off to him: Benedict looked every inch the English gent when he arrived in London