Under Green Influence

Greed. That is it. The poltergeist that causes trouble.
A little more time
A litle bit of herb and what not
Then make stupid decsions
Trying to fix the aftermath of the greed
Just hoping it won’t cause casualties. The aftermath.


We are so used to having conversations behind virtual walls
That we are used to evading emotions
And when there’s face to face conversation and
Feelings shared
Even trivial emotion
Which we would read and ignore over text message
Why can we not meet the eyes?
Like those arms when taking a photo, what do we do with the eyes?
Look back into theirs or look away full of unease?

It’s funny how one moment i will be scared of myself and few moments later i find peace and solace in self. No. Actually, it’s beautiful.

Late night thoughts

There are lot of things I want to say to you. Yet, I want to stay with me. Because opening a conversation is toxic. And leaving things unsaid let’s my feelings hold its respect intact.  Yet, there are so many things I want to say to you. A cycle.

A feeling of weariness, but the body is fine. The mind is fine. It’s something in the center of chest that feels like it’s washed up after being thrown around violently in hard waves. Unsettled and weary. Maybe absolute silence and stillness would help?

Do you know where your finish line is?

Holding on. I question what is it that I’m holding on to that I keep postponing on giving up… Even when I think of giving up and try to act on it, some invisible hand grips me tightly.

While my parents will consider it as their privilege. I see it as a curse. I did not wish to be born. It is a meaningless cycle. Then there are days when the sun is warm enough to melt into the metallic cracks and fuse them together. And then being a moving and feeling mass of energy feels worth it.

My thoughts are too dark. I wonder if it’s because I think too much and am aware of how cruel humanity always had been

I’m glad I’ve friends who help me stay sane. Call out when I’m being manipulated and sucked in a toxic relationship.

I find it ok to not like that person anymore and still miss them once in a while.

I am trying to believe that at one point he was genuine before I got carried away in his waves of confusions or maybe his manipulations. I still have a tiny bit of benefit of doubt. But I’m no more a fool. And a dear teacher used to say only fools make the same mistake twice.

I’m in between I’m over it and being ok with the sudden change of not thinking about it anymore. A routine breaks.

Being optimistic is exhausting.

Hypomania gives me the strength and attitude which I believe is more me then ever. Though exhausting, most of the times I wish I stay in that stage.

The inescapable pain

It starts with a harmless low din in my head. Before I know it, my head feels like there’s a vacume in my head. Something seems to try and suck all the space between my brain and skull. I begin to see dots and it feels like my head is going to explode.

With the constant throbbing sensation in my head I can sense my aggression rise. There is irritation. Mostly because of the pain that refuses to let me breathe. The intense still bursting pain lasts from minutes to hours. And the constant up and down of the throbbing pain lasts from a day to a week.

This is migraine.

With it comes photosensitivity and sensitivity to sound and smell. Your pungent deodrant mixed with your sweat, which would normally be a passing smell, would linger longer than I would like in my nose. It would add on to my nausea and make it twice the times worse. Your voice would be intolerable. Your normal decible will sound like a speaker screaming its power out.

All of which causes irritation. And the cycle continues.

The irritation usually brings in gloomy doomy mood. It always leaves me with a feeling of wanting to destroy myself – like with a bomb. Or drill a hole in my skull to relieve the pressure. Or simply cut out the top right lobe of my brain – the throbbing side – and throw it away. Do anything to just stop the pain. Most of the time it leaves me incapable of doing anything, especially things that needs focus.

I’ve been given all sorts of suggestions. Some I tried.

1. Medicines. I refuse to dump any more chemicals in me. They anyway are useless when I take them.
2. Oil massage. It does give temporary relief. I say temporary because somehow my migraine comes back worser than before.
3. Have sex. I’m too exhausted and already in immense irritating pain to even try that.
4. Keto diet. It’s science I’ve been told. But the cause of migraine is still unknown. Cure still unknown. I’m kind of reluctant to try. Because, I know I’ve to let this pain wear out on its own.
5. Lie down with my legs on the wall/upright to increase blood circulation to my head. Tried. Didn’t work.
6. Meditate. Yes. Easy to ask me to do that. Try that when your brain feels like it’s being squeezed to pulp.
7. Listen to music. Sound sensitivity doesn’t allow me to. Sometimes it does works.

What helped me so far with much needed relief
1. Cocoon myself into my favourite blanket and lie down in a dark and quiet room. Like I’m in one right now.
2. Lie down next to my mum. Ask her to lightly run her fingers in my hair.
3. Hot water bath – least temporary of all

The pain doesn’t go away, it’s inescapable. But the pressure on my brain seems to come down with these methods.

Majority of the time I’ve to wait for it to come down on its own. Run it’s full course.

And when it’s finally leaving my head – my brain feels like a wrung mush. I feel a sense of exhaustion taking over me. I can finally sleep.

That’s the part I usually wait for. Because once it’s over, life doesn’t seem as bad and gloomy as I felt when in pain.  Once it’s all over I am kind of glad that I didn’t give up. Or give in to unhealthy impulses.

One sided love

It was an unexpected dream. When I awoke with the fading saltiness of the dream, it had already intruded a box of memory that was tightly locked and marked as archive.

He was my friend. First friend to see me stand fiercely about equality. Think that started our friendship. I refused to “rag”. We were 18-19 year olds. Me a sophomore. He a fresher.

He saw me sniffle and hold back tears, I thought he never saw, over a bad case of messy breakup. He always sat next to me. Passing one of his ear phone and playing his songs. He didn’t pretend that he didn’t see my hold my tears. He always looked me in the eye and told me, “it will get easier.” And then go on talking about the kind of songs he likes. Slow songs. They were always, slow sweet ones. Gradually, two of his favourites had become mine as well.

There were walks in the greens. Especially the greens after rains. The seat next to either of us in the bus, if empty, always by default belonged to me or him. We were like peas in the same pod.

I was proud when he broke the news that he cleared the National Defence Academy exams. I would hear him in facination as  he would tell me about the kind of questions and physical tasks he had to clear.

We kept in touch. Even with the limitations he had to face when in training. And when he would call i would hear about horse ride training. Falling off the horse and fracturing his leg. Boxing sessions, and winning the rounds.

He would always tell me – everything is in the mind. I was better but still upset over the breakup. I had lost a best friend.

His calls were unpredictable, which I loved. And one day he broke the news that he made into Airforce. I was super proud of him. I always saw him as a kid and called him one literally. We revelled in joy while he let me know that he’s younger to me by six months.

He always saw me as a person. Respect was immense. He would always say – “that’s my girl” or “my type of girl”, to me.

Few years later, he told me he had achieved his dream. He had made it as a fighter pilot in the Indian airforce. And I was speechless. A fine gentleman. A fine friend. Ambitious. Achieved his dreams. Couldn’t have been more proud of him.

I had graduated and started working by then. First job.

Another call. A call asking me to be there with him as he graduated, top of his class. I wanted to be there. I could not. I had to chose between saving up vacation time for him vs my sister’s wedding. He understood. It would have been my first and only ball.

He had more trainings to under go.

One day, he let me know he liked me. I had healed by then. He knew. He knew how i saw him. He respected that. But he didn’t give up.

I wished, many times, I felt the same way back. To like him more than a friend. Look at him beyond the “kiddo” I saw him as over the years. I couldn’t. I didn’t think it right either for me or him to get into a relationship – when i didnt reciprocate or to give him false happiness or the hope that I’ll one day get there.

Finally, it ended with – “I did really like you, you know” from him. And a response from me as “I do too, still very much. Just not in the way you do.”

The calls got lesser. Maybe it was his way of coping.

He found love. He told me about her. His feelings and confusions for her. I was happy for him. More so because i had my friend back.

And then he was gone again. Without a word and a goodbye. 

I was angry. I confronted a wall. I was sad. Then just let things be. Life goes on.

There are days like today where an unexpected dream opens up these images. I surprise myself with the vividity i remember these things. I miss my friend. But i can still smile, that there was a beautiful friendship. I was seen as a person. Liked as one fully knowing all my uglies. Simple and honest friendship, until it became unbearable to one of the two people involved.

I’ll always be fond and partial to the Indian Airforce. Just because he is one of them today. Also, he is the only person seen me gwak awestruck at Airforce men swarming around our college before he became one of them. He had made fun of the gwaking part, and still not let me feel embarrassed about it.

A very good friend. I miss.


I, as you, have dual sides in me. Each tugging me towards the opposite extremes. Experiencing utter chaos. Exercising control to avoid slipping into my own madness. Eventually, some trigger tips me over. I come undone. Unhinged. Walking in my madness, observing. Tempted to unleash my darkness because I’ve been “played” and my tolerance misused. Cause ruins. It’s easy. Because, optimism is exhausting. It rewards the nice side in me, still is exhausting.

Temptation is the sexiest sultress. Fueling insane impulses. Blinding me of the consequences. But then, it didn’t really help by being “genuine and honest”. I still got played. By the boy I liked, a friend(s) I trusted and a stranger with fake obsessive need for sympathy.

I’ve been itching to unleash my madness. Toy back with people’s emotions. Break all the farce I built around me – which over the years developed as a habit and thus my personality. Nothing good ever came out of it.

I do remember the day when an act of kindness had pulled me from an abyss. Which encouraged me to stay kind. But then what’s the point of all this if everything and everyone I fought for, broke me bit by bit. By playing or toying with me. What’s the use of my honesty? Or me being genuine? Humanity around me is uncaring and almost cruel. And it is becoming almost unbearable to exist with all this. Wondering, if I can actually survive through all of this “game playing” mess.

Regardless. The only respite is that I can save my tolerance, honesty and genuine-ness to people who actually care about me and vice versa. A relationship that we built bit by bit over the years. That matters to me. Even with all my intense doom lik feeling I’m feeling currently.

Else, eventually the only end to everything is oblivion. I’m nothing when I cease to exist.


It’s it really that easy to forget? The time spent and the feelings that weaved along with it? Memories.

Sometimes there might not be any other way. But to move on.

There really is no one way to move on. One day something in you will click or break. Things get less painful. There will be some wistful thoughts which will try and cling on to the memories. But you will strive to keep living, thanks to survival instincts. And in that process, maybe you would have moved on. Finally.

You and Time

Time heals all heartaches, I hear. I disagree.

When you lose a person to death, it doesn’t get better with time. You don’t get ok with time. There will be a void. It will never be filled. Time does not make it better. You’ll have to go through the pain. Over time, eventually you’ll be forced to find ways to distract and ease the pain. Appreciate all things alive around you even more. Learn to be ok with the void. That’s not time. That’s you, yourself.

When you build a connection with a person and the person breaks your heart, it doesn’t get better with time. You’ll have to go through the pain, again. You’ll want to and try to make things better. But it ends up being worse, sometimes. Sometimes the person’s actions won’t match their words. Sometimes the silence will be painful, annoying and frustrating. Sometimes silence is needed. Eventually, the memory starts fading. The feelings might remain – how the person made you feel. Maybe in a good way, maybe in a terrible way. But things fade. And before you know it, you think lesser and lesser of the person and slowly becomes a person you used to know. You took care of yourself, your feelings and emotions. Time did not heal this. You did this when moving with time.

There will always be disappointments. More with self than with anyone else.

But eventually, when you are ready to heal – life goes on. Weather you like it or not.

Either way, you are doing fine.

Who are we?

We are all broken, fickle minded beings. We question the meaning of life. Same questions over and over again. Wonder about it in circles. What is life? What is significant in this life? What matters in the end?

There is no answer.

Mind just ends up wandering in unexpected places forgetting the main answer we were looking for.

Unknowingly, we are nihilists, I think. Maybe bit of an optimistic nihilist. Fickle minded, optimistic nihilists. Covering up our scars. Burying out vulnerabilities. Questioning our emotions. The authenticity of self.

We own multiple masks. Wear them on different occasions. Hide our emotions behind it. Have multiple personalities. We are complicated, tangled beings. All our lives are messy and fucked up. To different intensities.

And when the heart grows weary, we ask the same questions again:

What am I doing?
Am I living, really?
What does really matters?

Is any of this worth it?

There is no answer.

We just put up a brave mask. Pretend we don’t care. Let ourselves be numbed by our daily job. Exhaust the mind. Give it no space to think at all. About that relationship. No space to feel. Because otherwise you are clueless about what emotions should you be feeling – thanks to anxiety.

There is no answer.

The complexity is broken down to this simple sentence, defining who we are: we are broken, fickle minded beings.

What is real?

It felt like something was stuck in her chest. Was it a bullet? She didn’t remember. There were no memories. There were words from faces she didn’t remember. It had to be taken out, they said. She agreed, because the weight in her chest seemed to get heavier.

She was taken to a hospital. A white dress was handed to her to change into. There was some unusual smell on it. Barely detectable. It made her head feel funny.

“She was supposed to be knocked out by now”, she heard them say.

Sitting in the white room, with no recollection of recent events, something felt very amiss. Her instincts ordered her legs to bolt. She responded. She got up to leave.

She was slow. They held her back. She was restrained in a white straitjacket. Her mouth covered. She saw the scalpel brought close to her. She had no anesthesia.

The faceless man didn’t hesitate. The scalpel pierced and tore across her chest.

Was that dread that she felt?

Was this all in her head?

A Kiss

It was a beautiful evening
It was time to part
Each carrying their own set of emotions
She tried to lean in
She thought, “I want to kiss him. But do i kiss him?”
It was her instinct versus herself.

That day, he had tried resting his head over her shoulders, on that one cab ride together.
She liked the trust and comfort that seemed to be built
But he had moved away as suddenly as he had rested his head. There was no time to breathe in it.
Was that what held her?
Or was it all the invisible anxieties?
She knew which was it exactly.

Days went by. She found herself wondering, “What if I had my courage in place and kissed him?
How would that have been?
Raw and emotionless?
How different would it be, than the “kiss” that was taken away from me by force?
After a long time, a desire to share a kiss
Forgetting all that had happened.
Would it have ruined me?
Just a kiss, you would say right?
But, I know I would have had a smile on my lips that night.
And maybe few more days.”

Now, it seems like the fire is gone.
Maybe, he has left her behind too.
Way of life. Different wants.
We are all made of same stuff, yet so different
But, she will look back and wonder
How it would have felt like
If she had the courage to overcome her anxiety
And just kiss the guy she had a great time with