Wrong Mould

She used to walk to school.

Some boys began to follow.

She stopped walking.

Mom bought her a cycle.

Boys started whistling at her.

She gave up the cycle too.

Dad arranged a rickshaw ride.

But knocks and taunts still grew.

She took the school bus next.

The staff began to leer.

She stopped going to school.

Her silence became clear.

“Why didn’t you react?” they asked.

She looked them in the eye:

"You never allowed me to react—

You only taught me to tolerate.

If I knocked those boys,

You'd call me arrogant.

If I raised my voice,

You’d say I’m defiant.

If I punched those boys,

You’d make me apologise.

If I named the driver,

You’d find fault in me. 

So I stopped reacting—

Not because I didn’t feel.

But so that maybe one day,

You'd learn: children aren't clay to kneel.

We are not to be tuned

To your fears or shame.

You silence our voices,

Then ask why we didn't react."

Masked Days

 Life is not the same as old

Changes came in a single day

World has turned to black and cold

Someone tried the man to slay

Is that easy to make grip hold

In the place where heroes stay?

We made earth into a super mould

Where millions live with hope and pray

Staying apart to fight this foe

And staying along in doing so.

A Final Goodbye

The place that shaped who I am today.

The place that made me feel at home. 

The place that stood by me through every high and low — witnessing 

my successes and my breakdowns.

This is the place that defined me as a Trivian. 

Here, I was never an outsider, never a stranger. 

For the first time, I felt like I truly belonged.

I lived most of my life here.

Ten years is not at all small.

The people, the culture, the language—

Every part of it seeped into me and became a part of who I am.

Leaving this place feels like leaving a piece of myself behind. 

But sometimes, to grow, we must move forward—even if it hurts.

And so, with a heavy heart, I say goodbye. 

Not forever—because no matter where I go, 

this place will always live within me.

The Wish

 A man,

working far from home,

returns on leave

to the warmth of his parents’ waiting arms.

His parents greet him

With love wrapped in complaints—

how the house feels hollow,

how their bones are tired of waiting.

how the walls echo with chores undone.

no one to stir their favourite dishes,

no one to walk beside them to the market,

No one to sit quietly in hospital queues.

The son listens and he speaks gently,

“I cannot stay. My work is away.

If you wish, you can come with me”.

They scoff softly—

“Who asked you to stay?

And we are not leaving our home”.

We just need someone… Someone…

to look after us…to manage the home.

You know… someone like—”

And they left the sentence unfinished.

But it hangs in the air,

heavy and familiar.

He smiled and said, “I understood.”

“Before I go, I’ll fulfil your wish.”

“The one who may stay will come tomorrow”

He said while serving the dish.

“If your heart says no, please don’t hesitate—

A wrong choice leaves a deep scar.”

The couple dreamt of wedding bells,

bangles in the kitchen, anklets on the staircase

a new voice filling the gaps that

Their son’s absence leaves.

They woke up early, swept the yard,

Lay fresh flowers at the door,

prepare sweets, and wait —

for welcoming the bride.

A knock. They opened the door—

Stand still. Their smiles fade.

Not because of the stranger,

But because of their shattered expectation.

Their expectation met reality in the

quiet space between tradition and time.

She was not their bride, draped in customs,

but a caregiver, hired, trained and paid.

She’s not a daughter-in-law.

Not a replacement for the one they imagined.

And she won’t bend under the weight

of generations of unpaid labour.

She’s just a person — doing a job,

no man was ever asked to do.

First published in Muse India

इन्द्रधनुष

आ गई आसमान उसकी हथेली चूमने,
सबने देखा — आँखों के सामने।
फिर भी सिर्फ़ उसी को मिली वो रौशनी,
क्योंकि वो थी मेहनत की असली कमाई।

पहुंचा वो सागर की गहराइयों तक,
अकेला था — मगर हिम्मत नहीं छोड़ी।
मिल गए मोती — जलपरियों की गोद से,
बुन ली उसने खुशियों की मोतियों वाली माला।

धरती को उसने स्वर्गराज्य बना डाला,
इस बार वो अकेला नहीं था।
सबने थामा हाथ — बनी एक नई बात,
साथ हो तो सात समंदर भी कम पड़ जाएं।

Slap

How can you raise a hand —

Against the person you claim to love the most?

Is that act justified because you’re a man?

Or because anger took over, 

momentarily blinding your conscience?

Is anger a good enough reason –

To disrespect another human?

To forget what it means to be humane?

To toss compassion out the window

and let your temper do the talking?

Because if we all did that —

if we all acted on every flash of fury,

Where would we end up?

What kind of world would that be?

Or…

Is that rage just a Masculine Privilege?

Reserved for men, like some inherited Crown of Fire?

Does your strength begin and end with your fists?

Is that what makes you a man?

The bruises she hides?

The silence she keeps?

You say it’s love.

But — Since when does love come with wounds?

They called you Kalippan — 

short-tempered, a little rough around the edges.

They called her your Kanthari —

sharp-tongued, fiery, a perfect match.

They said,

“You two fight, but oh, how much you love each other.”

“She’s the only one who can handle him.”

“It’s just the way he is.”

“And he has a Heart of Gold.”

But here’s the truth:

That Kalippan-Kanthari fire was fun…

Until it burned her skin.

Until her spark started dimming under the weight of his rage.

Until she couldn’t tell if he was holding her hand or about to hit again.

What happens –

When the passion turns to punishment?

When Kalippan stops loving and starts breaking?

When Kanthari starts hiding in corners,

counting his moods like landmines?

And still—

He brings flowers,

mumbles “sorry,”

says “I didn’t mean it.”

And she wants to believe him.

But tell me —

How many apologies can cover up a scar?

How many times can “I love you”

Follow a raised hand?

But the cycle repeats 

And the apology sounds like insult,

And love tastes like fear.

Still they ask her –

To stay.

To adjust.

To forgive.

For the sake of marriage.

For the sake of children.

For the sake of peace.

But Peace – is not built on fear.

Not on broken bones and silenced screams.

And Love — Real Love —

Doesn’t come with a side of Violence.

It’s Time –

To stop Romanticizing Rage.

To stop calling Temper “Cute.”

To stop saying, “that’s just how he is.”

It’s Time –

To stop asking Kanthari to keep burning quietly,

while the Kalippan throws fire like he owns it.

Because –

She is not his matchstick.

She is not his punching bag.

She is not here to absorb his storms.

She is fire too.

But hers —

hers is the kind that Glows,

not the kind that Scars.

First published in Madras Courier

Love

Is it easy… to find Love?
Or is it just a dream we dress up in fairy lights,
a Word – we chase –
in movies, songs and stories
that end before real life begins?

Who is the worthy one?
Do we find them by chance or choice?
A friend who knows all your awkward silences?
A cousin who grew up under the same sky?
That stranger you pass every day but never speak to?

Or is it…
the one your parents pick,
folded inside a photograph and a biodata?
Will they be the one?
The chosen one?

The one fate whispered your name to —
before either of you even learned to spell love?
They call it a Soulmate –
a half that fits your missing whole.
A destined match – a cosmic bond, written in stars.

But for me?
I don’t know, I really doubt it.
I doubt there’s someone out there,
already shaped to fit the cracks in me.

I doubt – that I’ll find someone,
whose love doesn’t end –
in lawyers and loneliness
and silent dinners with louder silences.

Because – as we age,
Our checklist grows longer.
Our patience gets shorter.
Our hearts grow cautious.
Not colder — but careful.

And love?

It’s no longer just butterflies.
It’s building a home without breaking yourself.
It’s staying when leaving looks easier.
It’s effort. It's honesty.

It’s someone willing to try —
even on days when they fail.
So maybe…
love isn’t about finding the one.

Maybe love is not to find,
but made, unmade, and made again.
Maybe love isn’t about fate.
Maybe it’s about showing up.

Maybe it’s about choosing someone —
again, and again, and again —
even when the magic wears off
and all that’s left is truth.

We seek not just a pretty face—
but one who stays through storms and years.
Not flawless, but forgiving
Not perfect — but human.

First published by Kashmir Pen in Samovar Songs

What's in a Name!

A name is born before a child,
long ago in a guardian’s mind.

Names carry choices —
some personal, some imposed,
yet they become burdens, they become chains,
echoing the owner's dislike and despair.

Burdened by childhood nicknames, 

hidden in shame and disgust,
never to be revealed in public.

Dislike deepens in a pool of names —
some too common, others too rare,
leaving one to wonder:
"Did my parents search hard enough?"

Some stand alone, others hold bold initials, 
some stretch long with surnames trailing behind.
A few are short, easy to call and recall,
while others demand a breath to pronounce.

Only a few escape the clutches of clichés.
Most carry caste, creed, religion, or gender,
marking identities before one arrives.

Before one is heard, before one is seen,
their name comes first —
dragging along prejudices, biases, assumptions, and expectations.

A name is a blueprint one carries everywhere,
used by others to define, dissect, and judge.

Yet, we ask - "What's in a Name?"

Admirable Pride

In a world of change, perspectives unfold,

Yet those who cling to old views untold,

Are ill-equipped to judge their fellow kin,

Bound by binaries, boxed within.

For them, it's either black or white,

No room for hues that challenge their sight,

Deviation from this ancient norm,

Brands one an enemy, a social storm.

The rainbow, a symbol of diversity's grace,

But confined within he or she - a limited space, 

Its beauty fades in the eyes that gaze,

Condemning it, a sentiment that stays.

But the world evolves, attitudes new,

A hopeful future for generations, true,

May they welcome the rainbow's embrace,

Free from bias, in every space.

Let intolerances fade, let hearts be free,

Where rainbows thrive in harmony,

A world where colors dance and blend,

A future where all discriminations end.

Together we strive, hand in hand,

To build a world that will withstand,

The tests of time, the bonds we share,

Where rainbows shine, and all hearts care.

The Flame of Vengeance

You fall in love with me seeing my beauty

I too acted before you that I love you

But I will leave you the day I become your addiction

I will neither let you laugh nor cry in peace

I will stay in your thoughts and memories 

And not even let you have a sound sleep.

I am planning to break your heart so terribly

And going to give you the pain you gave me

After making you meet with death, I will leave you alive

To leave someone dying, breaking and yearning is so enjoyable 

And who knows this better than you

This blaze of fire will settle all the scores between us.

I am not going to let my eyes get damp for you

And I won’t allow you to be my weakness.

With a broken heart I was taught to smile and move ahead

Your betrayal has taught me to handle myself.

The flames has not only given me a new face

But also it made me rise from this ashes as a Phoenix.

Click here to watch the original work (song).

A Shopping with Society

‘A white dashing Shirt'

“It is transparent”

‘A pretty fish-cut Skirt'

“Are you a kid?”

‘A perfect formal T'

“It is too short”

‘A cool denim Shorts'

“Forgot your upbringing?”

‘A printed formal Kurta'

“Its slit is too high”

‘A gorgeous ethnic Saree'

“Want to show your navel?”

‘A lovely Salwar Kameez”

“Don’t forget the shawl”

‘An elegant party Gown'

“Isn’t it sleeveless?”

‘How is this Burka?’

“Perfect… Pack it”

Begins at the End

Initially it was stalking and I haven’t bothered it.

Later it became an alliance and I strived to oppose it.

Finally I was married and I managed to survive it. 

Our match wasn’t made in heaven but on earth.

We weren’t soulmates but usual matches.

Thus what happened between us wasn’t war but a battle.

Mediators changed a lot and we were still there.

Time didn’t wait for us and we were on the run.

Court room gave us our own ways and we stepped apart.

We met again on a new year eve and began as new friends.

We walked through the busy street holding hand in hand.

We enjoyed our company together as we were out of masks.

On that new year we gave it a try to be a couple again.

This time it was a strong partnership as we jointly tackled the odds.

We succeed in smashing the age old rules which murmured us to  “Order the Other”.

Birth of the Self

Hey stop! It's time to quit this show 

You have amused ample in this stage 

All have enjoyed and earned enough 

Now the time has come to try something new

You might have tired off playing numerous characters

Which are at loggerheads with your true self

None can find the displeasure on your face

As you are the best actor I have ever seen.

Till now that was for someone else

And I too have played along with you

Now the moment has come for me to leave

So,Can you please do a parting act for me?

You are the only one who understands me

For once I wish to see who I am through you

Will you enact myself before me?

Like you give life to other alien characters

I promise you that this will be your swan song

You will never be able to act anymore when I leave

You are going to find yourself within me

And I will reincarnate as you find yourself.

Loranthus

How elegant her look was?
She seized everyone’s glances –
Lured them into her beauty.

How strong her physique was?
I still remember those days –
When she cradled me in her arms.

How sweet her heart was?
She gave us whatever she had 
And sheltered us from everyone.

But one day He came –
A guest who asked her a room
She allowed him, unknowing his intentions.

 
Day by day he encroached her 
Withering her into sick
But she never hate him.

Finally, the day came –
My Mango tree in the courtyard 
Breath her last leaving us all.

After few weeks there appear
Her little baby who gave us hope
That she came back with all her spirits. 

Nostalgia

Setting rays are giggling me and the western sun is waking me,

‘Stop it yaar… I want to sleep’

Oh no! It’s time to work,

Yanking my formal clothes, I rushed for some fresh shower.

Passing beside the Imli tree,

Listening to my fast footsteps - Chamgadhads are rising up.

Stealing some Imli fruits and hiding them inside my pant pockets,

I opened my cabin door.

The office was in dead silence as my team went to the night party,

I tasted one Imli fruit.

I traversed to my ancestral home,

Dadi was in the courtyard front and scolding me to get inside.

Grabbing Imli from my mouth, she warned me of ‘Dilruba’-

The Chudail who lives in our Imli tree.

Dadi shares the legend to me-

“She transforms to Chamgadhad as she is the Queen of Bats”.

She only comes to us – 

When we either call her or take her favourite stuff.

As she likes Imli most,

She will come and start eating us after sitting on our little heads.

When the gust opened my window panes,

I dropped the Imli in a terror fearing whether she has come.

*Chamgadhad - Bat

*Imli - Tamarind

*Dadi - Grandmother

*Chudail - Mythical/Legendary creature resembling a woman

Sincere Secret

Hey you, 
I know you love me
But I swear, I don’t love you
You made my life so desperate 

I trusted you and what I got – Betrayal?

You had everything but you spoiled it
You hurt the heart of your dear ones
Now I suffer from my loved ones

For you, the time wasted was just numbers 
But for me, it was my opportunities
You drained all my happiness from life
And I wish if I were you!

You made me pay for all your deeds
You estranged from your beloved friends 
And my favourite ones alienates me
Is this what you achieve for me? 

Your sins are haunting me
If you were sensible and disciplined 
I won’t be this much misplaced
Don’t you think so?

You enjoyed your life to fulfill your fantasies
But that smashed all my dreams and hopes
I don’t blame you for celebrating your life
But be responsible to attain your obligations

Haven’t you recognized me yet?
I am you, but from the future
You have still time to change for me 
If you truly love me…

Midnight Call

Drops of rain splashing through my window panes,

Gentle breeze wake me up.

I could see the naughty moon playing with the rainy clouds,

I stood up from my spongy bed.

Who is sharing the morning gossips in this silent night?!?!?!

Oh! Its the jumping drops that shares his entire journey,

Within a little time, who come across his soulmate stream.

I could see them holding hands, rowing together towards

The oceanic depths - the heaven of their eternal love

I realise, when the sky turns dark,

Its the beginning of a unique love saga.

Indispensable Endeavour

He lives in the deepest and darkest of homes 

Where one finds the ultimate freedom of solace

Mommies slumber babies to his bedtime lullabies

Leaves and buds bloom to his morning melodies

His stances of life took a surprising reversal

When he came across a townlet in his stint

Folks seemed to live there happy and sound

Crushing the dreams of certain private goals

He thought of his world of complementary bonds 

Where sacrifices never exist for living ahead

Bound to the chains for expressing their desires

Live there a fortune of unspoken elegant dames 

He sings and sings and sings… to make them glad

Which strained his throat and nothing arose

Dusk to dawn and dawn to dusk – until his death.

‘None can please them - even the God’ his swan song meant

He never returned to his dearest heavenly abode 

Where his dear and near ones awaited his arrival 

Nobody heard his soothing melodious songs thereupon

And his buddies ceased to explore human habitats

Once there lived a cheerful Nightingale in the forest 

Who strived to alter the lives of the tyrannized 

He failed to comprehend the universal truth – 

“Transitions should come from the oppressed minds”

Zenith of Discern

Alarm clock lays abandoned in-home, 

Raising rays pricks my slumber eyes. 

Mom switches off the fan to make me rise, 

Morning breeze embraces me with shalom. 

Edibles start to diminish at home,                

Jackfruits in my courtyard arise.                

Thoughts of friends make me cries,                

Flocks of birds freely roam. 

Musing of my outings ends in vain,                

Cloudy sky paints in modern style,                

Rivers flows like ferocious snakes.                  

I watched the moon after a blissful rain, 

It whispered to me with a petite smile,            “Only Man is bound to the rule he makes.”            

Gaze of Retrieval

Gentle breeze is perplexing the mango leaves - 

In curtaining me from raising rays,

Dawning sun is pricking my slumber peeves.

The wooden box struck my tilting gaze.

I longed to have it in my childhood time,

Remain now as a mortal legacy unused.

I inherited it on my grandma’s parting time,

Since then, it remains the place untouched.

Dragged it down and wiped the dust,

I opened it with a cracking sound.

Coloured woolen yarns filled the chest, 

I started to knit with the needle in pound. 

Everything was same as old,

The time I got is a treasure of gold.