One more


                                                Photo by Sarah Cervantes on Unsplash

Staying still

is not, has never been, will never be

an option for those

who changed their world.

One more stroke of brush.

One more word.

One more early rise.

One more fit of practice.

Just one more of that thing.

Crippling might it be but

Just one more time.



Running through those narrow streets, he crossed colored doors, low ceilings, high chimneys, rugged walls, broken windows, playing kids, long screams, far dreams, defunct carriages, rusted spears, young but worn out and old but bright faces.

As he neared the ungaurded gate of the fort, he slowed. Panting, he was out of air. Looking at the far away horizon, he could not help smiling. He started walking out of the fort gates. Calm seemed to spread over his sullen face with every step he took. As he reached the edge of the cliff just outside the fort, he stood facing the vast sea in front of him.

Like waters of a calm lake beat the shore mildly, happiness was striking his soul. He was free now. Free as an albatross.

He heard the clamour. The crackling chariots, the cobbling horses, the shouts of the king’s men, the hue and cry of ladies and children scurrying for protection, gunshots. Sooner, it was in front of him in all its glory. The formidable numbers, the fierce weapons. the bloodshot eyes, the seething rage, the fiery desire to kill. He could see them all.

For some moments, a strange silence prevailed between him and the men. And then, he jumped. He jumped from the cliff. He jumped to his freedom with both of his hands wide open.

Running through those narrow streets, he was running from his own shadow, from his inner self. He was running to freedom.


Accomplishments as Motivation

Do this.

Live to Write - Write to Live

For years now, I have been creating a list of accomplishments for the past year. I used to do it around my birthday, but in the last few years I’ve done it at the end of one calendar year before I set my goals for the next year.

I’ve already written about my goals for 2017, but I wanted to write a little more about my list of accomplishments because it’s been an incredibly useful tool.

I’m also facilitating a Goals Group for 2017, and the first assignment I gave the group was to make a list of 50 accomplishments from 2016. Yes, 50! It sounds daunting, but they did it. (You can, too.)

When you decide to write a list of 50 accomplishments, you start out with the obvious ones: “Posted x blog posts,” for example, or “won NaNo.”

But when you get down to #20…

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On your graduation day!



There are only a few days in one’s life when you are boundlessly happy, proud and excited and teary-eyed, all at the same time. Tomorrow is one such day, I guess. You might not realize it but nobody will ever be happier and prouder than us when we see you at stage. Not the perfect analogy, but the feeling is very similar to that when a gardener looks at his flourishing garden.


It might not seem to you to be a great achievement but at-least for a day, tomorrow, do not belittle it. Feel proud about it.

While you wait in the hall, listening to the names of your friends being called, notice the smile on their faces, the happiness in their eyes. And when they call out yours, look out for us. We would be waving at you.

Meet your friends. Hug them. Throw your graduation uttariyas in the air. Get clicked. Click photos.Walk through the time you have spent here and collect everything that makes you smile. Become aware of the mistakes you made and be thankful for the times that tested you or you would have never come to know of your strengths.

Meet your professor.

Be with us for sometime, before you go off with your friends again. And before you leave, give us your best smile, the best of all, when I say,

“Say cheese!”

And today,

Smile, because tomorrow is your day. Smile, because you graduate tomorrow!

A smile that died


It was hot inside the room. The AC was broken and the fan was reeking as if counting its own few last breaths. The still air in the room was suffocating me but everyone else seemed to be dead-sleep. I was lying on my bed, going through everything that had happened that day. It was then that I heard a distant horn-blow of a train.

The Palakkad railway station was just 50 m away from our hotel. And something about it had pulled me when we had checked-in earlier that day. I should go for an aimless walk to the railway station, it occurred to me.

I walked out of my hotel room then. As I walked down the alley of the hotel, I saw two guys talking. First, stone-faced with dark-eyes, looking straight into the other guy. Second, bespectacled, carrying strong expressions on his face. They were too occupied by anger, I suppose, to have noticed me pass by them. I took the stairs instead of the lift and I could find some boys sitting around the steps, some standing in the alley holding a glass of alcohol in hand, talking. That reminded me of my days during college, scraping off some long-buried mis-happenings.

As I reached the glass doors of the hotel couple of floors down, I could see nothing outside. I stood there to get accustomed to the darkness and while I waited, I could hear the guys I had passed earlier. They were shouting now. Both of them. It was the anger talking.

As I stepped out, a sudden pang of chilly wind pierced my skin, sending out shivers all along my spine.

“I should’ve gotten my jacket”, sliding my hands in the pockets of my jeans, I murmured and headed out to the railway station.

“The train has left the earlier station. It should be here in next 15 mins”, I heard someone speak as I reached the platform.

I kept walking on the main platform, taking in all those varied sounds and emotions and without any second thought, went on to walk on the rails. The edgy, crushed stones made noise as I walked over them. The famous Palakkad winds were caressing my face and I was flipping from stones to rails and back.

After 10 mins, I saw the flickering lights of an engine far away. Sounds of metals clanking slithered through the rails and a series of horn-blows followed. I realized that I was walking on the rails on which the train was chugging and hence I moved away. At the same time, I heard a faint shout from ahead of me but didn’t find anyone around. Deeming the shout as coming from one of the houses nearby,  I sat down at the edge of one of the rails.

When I looked up towards the platform after I settled, strangely enough, I saw a guy walking on the rails. I got curious and kept looking at the guy. As he passed an overhead lamp along the rails, I got a shimmered glance at him. What I saw made me tremble.

The guy looked exactly like me.

“Am I dreaming? How is that even possible? Am I hallucinating?”, I was fighting with myself. I rubbed my eyes vigorously and then looked at him again. He was there, still walking on the rails, flipping from stones to rails and back. Just the way I was walking few moments back. It took me some time to realize, to my horror, that he was walking on the rails on which the train was coming. Not knowing what to do, I stood up frantically. I was breathing heavily at this point of time.

I heard the series of horn-blows again. The train was closer now but was still very aggressive. It occurred to me that the guy would realize the impending danger and move away as I had done.

But he didn’t. I felt the ground below me slipping away.

“Hey, woa”, I shouted at the top of my voice and ran towards him with a kick. I was looking at the train and then looking at him. I could hear the rattles of the train now.

Train, him. Train, him.

“Why is he not moving away from the track? What does he have on his mind? Is he crazy? What is wrong with him? Why is he not looking at me?”, I blabbered.

“Hey, woa. Get away from the track.”

I was shivering with fear but I kept shouting and running towards him. I heard horn-blows more frequently now and the intensity of those blows wrapped me with fear.

Suddenly, he stopped. He stopped walking and looked up. I stopped running but scurried towards him. Those edgy, crushed stones didn’t matter.

“Hey, woa. Get away from that track. Can’t you see the train coming? Get away lad.”, I shouted, addressing him. I could now see him clearly, very clearly. I was just a track away from him now.

He looked at me and smiled.

The train blared the horns again. The horns, this time, shook me from within. I shouted again. For one last time.

Something that I can not forget even today is the smile on his face. A smile that was mine. A smile that died with him.









To the Critical One

A very strong message poured out in such subtlety!

Reflections of A Pragmatic Dreamer

“We are all wonderful, beautiful wrecks. That’s what connects us–that we’re all broken, all beautifully imperfect.” ― Emilio Estevez

She’s the one who has a crush;
On a friend who says he loves another…

She doesn’t have a lot of boys hitting on her
Although, she doesn’t understand when they actually do…

She is 21 & has never been kissed,
Never been on a date or ever asked out…

She doesn’t remember when she did,
fall head over heels in love with him…

It was crazy the way her heart would beat,
every single time he greeted her…

Every time she wanted to ask him out;
She ran to the bathroom to remind herself,
How ugly and pudgy she had become…

She assumed she isn’t the kind of girl
any guy would want to date,
let alone her friend who is simply perfect..

What she didn’t realise was that like everyone else;

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The third face


What do you do,

when you hear nothing but

only rounds of your own breath?

Remember the ones you love? Pick a pen up and pour yourself out on that page? Let the smoldering anger of self-pity out of you while you dance to the tune of liberation? 

Or let the pity culminate to trigger the self-destruction?

What do you see,

when you have a glass of water with a steel spoon

on your table?

Your weird faces in the spoon? A tornado in the glass? That subtle dance of the water as you drum the glass with the spoon? 

Or the tumbled glass, and water hitting the floor?

What do you become

when nobody is watching you?

An impatient wave? An uninhibited river? A piece of land after the cyclone subsides? A pebble stone at the shore, in a cusp of sand?

Or an exorbitantly selfish and an uncanningly dark animal?

What is your third face?

Who are you that you show to no-one?




Are you again?

In the middle of this forest,

wondering how you ended up

after you started on a char-coal road?



Are you again?

Of the darkness that envelopes you?

Of the silence, broken only

by the cricket-ty bugs, by the ruffle of the leaves,

by the whispers of that stealthy air?


Look up!

I have sent you balloons,

Red, green, white, blue.
Floating, playing with the wind.

Raise your hand, grab one, hold on tight

And you will soon glimmer in light, up above the forest.

For balloons, can never be dark.
Its just a play of the darkness.

They can never be dark,
Its just the play of the darkness.

Thank you


Thank you.

Thank  you for judging me, yet again. I felt naked when you sliced me with your moral knife and looked at me through the befogged views of the people around you. That helped me to care much less about them.

Thank you for slamming that door on my face or else I would have kept sailing through life under an illusion that I chose the right set of people.

Thank you letting me know that I don’t exist for you or else I would always see you breathe. Pray that you don’t see me ever in your life again or else I will make you see the dark side of the moon.

Thank you for bringing out my dark side.


Weird soul


I am a weird soul.

On lazy Saturday afternoons, I would just look at you. Look at how you blink while you look out of the window endlessly. Look at how you hold up that coffee mug. Look at your fingers.

But some afternoons, I might not look at anything other than words. Words in the books, words in my diary.

I might be a man of family. But some days, I would need to be a child, caring a little less about how irrelevant things turn about.

I would take that step to mend our ties if things don’t go well between us, but some days, I would need you to tell me this,

“Come, let’s have dinner together.”

I might make love to you in a way you would remember, but some days, I might need to just sleep being wrapped around you.

I would, most of the days, let you have the whole day for yourself. But some days, I would need you, just for myself.

I told you. I am a weird soul.