I’m Sorry

I’m sorry

I’m sorry

I’m sorry

I didn’t know I still felt this way

I didn’t know I still had this feeling in me

I’m sorry for what I did

For the role I played in letting us go

I’m sorry

We were supposed to last

We were supposed to be forever

We cut cakes

We shared chocolates

We held hands and kissed cheeks

(or maybe not)

But, we certainly made promises

To be together

To be by each other

I’m sorry I didn’t keep my promise

I’m sorry I let go

And I’m sorry I didn’t say sorry sooner

Or harder

Or enough

(Or maybe I didn’t mean it then?)

I still think of those days

I still miss you

I still find ways to blame you

I still miss you

I still feel hurt

I still feel sorry

I mostly feel sorry

I’m sorry

I’m sorry

I’m sorry

Do you hear me?

I’m so so so sorry…


If I pick up the phone,

Like old times…

Will you say hello again?



10:07 AM, In Flights of Fantasy

It’s like a spectrum.

On one side, I see a family- loving, cooperative, cohabiting in peace, navigating life together the best way they can. I can feel the warm glow of companionship spilling over from my imagination into my consciousness, filling me with longing for a fantasy in my head.

I don’t like that feeling- of longing for something that never was. I call myself silly and plow into reality, barrelling down the spectrum to its other end- into the comfortable embrace of fear.

What do I fear?

I fear to trust somebody enough to get into a relationship. I fear to believe in a fellow human who is as fallible as I am. I fear to invest in a reality which can turn unpredictable and twist me ragged any second. Because nothing’s permanent, is it? Everything falls apart eventually. Everything dies. How can I depend on something as mortal as mortality?

It’s a faulty thinking process; what is called, in parlance, maladaptive thinking.

“Depending on a fellow human will make me weak. After all, I can’t speak for their thoughts or actions or motivations. The only controls in my hand are mine. So, I trust only me. It makes no logical sense to trust or depend on what I can’t control, right.”

See, that’s maladaptive thinking. And a defence mechanism called controlling.

Either I control the variable or it doesn’t exist in my bubble. But, we can’t control people, can we? It’s not right- infringing into the personal space of others. So, people- this unpredictable variable called people- has no place in my world, in my well-insulated bubble.

But, why did my morning study session devolve into this long-winded psychobabble?

Apparently, I’m supposed to get married. Apparently, this is the age for it. But, I don’t feel ready.

My father asked a very valid question: When do you think you will be ready?

I had no answer. I don’t know when I’ll be ready because I don’t know when I’ll find the middle ground between the extremes of longing and fear.

And I don’t know who I should go to for advice… So, I wrote.



…You shatter the peace and challenge my fear
You calm the storm inside just so it can rage on
I want to feel you with me
By my side
On me, by my whim
In me, by my desire
No more lies tonight, not tonight, my love
Tonight we tell the truth that we never tell anymore
I’ll heal you with my voice
Comfort you with my heart beat
I’ll hold you close and love you with my mind
We were cold, we were heartless
We were selfish, we were scared
We were liars in the world, but never of the world
We laughed over our tears and pretended to never be hurt
We kept saying we were fine even while throwing ourselves into the abyss
We put up a facade for the world and bled in places it could never see
We danced to its tunes barefoot and played its games naked
Yes, let’s break that paradise down where we say we are happy and turn away to hide our tears
Where we cheat, lie and hide and hold each other at an arm’s distance.
Let’s break down the paradise that’s nothing more than an illusion
Carefully maintained by our fears, insecurities and tears.
To you and me, rulers of the old paradise, let there be no more rules
I’ll accept your truth just as I’ll accept your lie
I’ll accept all of you and everything of you
I’ll build this new paradise for you
For me
For that one day, when we escape…


He’s like me. I think that’s why I’m into him. That’s why I couldn’t get him off my mind. It nearly drove me crazy, you know; the desire to spend more time with him, to get to know him in and out. But, he’s like me. So of course, like I expected, he didn’t contact me for a week. He didn’t contact me until he wanted a shag.

That was okay with me. I knew when I replied to his message the first time, what I was getting myself into. A one-night stand, a little bit of fun keeping it a secret and that’s it. We weren’t looking for a relationship; neither of us.

In fact, I’m still not looking for a relationship. Heavens! That would be disastrous. My approach or obsession, if I may say, is of the more clinical type. I want to get under his skin and find out what makes him tick. I want to push him and pull him until he’s tired and I’m tired. I want to poke him until he bleeds and then, repeat that until he bleeds more.

Hmm…reading what I wrote might make you wonder if I hate myself. I don’t. I’m just fascinated with myself. Nothing greatly special about me; I guess I’m the easiest lab rat available to myself. It’s easy to put myself under the microscope rather than interact with humanity. But, this find- somebody like me! I could call it an obsession, but really, it should be narcissism.

However, since he’s like me- I know what’s going to happen. He will keep me on the hook, at his whims and fancies and one day, he’ll get bored of even that and he’ll forget my existence. So will I, of course, but, it might take a little effort from my side in this case. It won’t be as natural as it usually is.

It’s interesting being on the other side. My pride keeps getting rents and knitting itself back together. Yes, it’s all very chaotic, very messy and very, very interesting.



Why Aren’t You?

You useless person,

There are so many beautiful things here

Why aren’t you?


I don’t know who I’m talking to

A stranger in the future that I might miss

A friend in the present that I do miss

I don’t know who should be here;

Who am I talking to?


I go from place to place

Revelling in my own company

But, the beer I ordered feels alone

Without a companion on the other side

I roam from bookstore to bookstore

Losing myself among the bundles of old and new

Buying too much, thinking too little

Maybe you should have been here

To hold me back


I still don’t know who I am talking to

Who could give me company in a bar

Companionship in a bookstore

I’m talking maybe to that random stranger

Who one day may not be so random

Or so strange


Is it weird to wish to be alone?

But, sometimes miss humanity?

Is it weird to miss something there never was?

Is it weird to miss what might be?

My feelings seem to have gotten ahead of themselves

Popping up from a place that doesn’t yet,



You useless person

There’s so many beautiful things here…

Why aren’t you?


But it’d better if I ask

Who aren’t you?

Who are you?



09:32 PM, A Random Note To A Best Friend

There are always those people who’re the floats in your life.

You’re mine.

When life seems like it’s bent upon pushing me down and drowning me, I desperately clutch at you, hang on to you for dear life. Because I know you’ll let me. Because I know you care. Because I know I matter in your life.

As of today.

Soon, a time will come when you’ll be gone too. You’ll get married, you’ll have a husband, kids, an entire family that doesn’t involve me; that is more important than me.

I know that time will be upon us soon.

Until then, accept these random messages I send you, the miss you’s and love you’s and the forever and ever’s. Until that moment comes, let me cling on to you when life throws me to the waves. Until that fateful time when I’ll lose you, let me cherish every moment I get to be important to you.

Until then, my friend, I love you; I miss you; and I expect you to answer my call.




I asked her if she went to school.

The girl selling roses on the street at 20 bucks a stem replied that she’s in seventh standard and she’s studying in a nearby government school.

She didn’t look 12. She was barefooted. But, she spoke Hindi in the land of Kannada and knew how to make a sale.

When I bought the roses from the persuasive kid, she asked me for a hundred bucks. She said her mother promised to buy her slippers and books if she had a hundred bucks.

I couldn’t bring myself to believe her. In my profession as a psychiatrist, you hear too many stories of money being drowned in a bottle. So instead, I made her an offer- I’ll buy her what she wants; no cash exchanges.

As she led me by hand to the nearest convenience store, I asked her more questions: what does her mother do? What does her father do? Does she have any brothers and sisters?

She was clear in only one answer: she had no father or brothers.

And the younger sister didn’t count.

Her eyes were big and round, lips curved down and a frown on her forehead when she said that. She was playing me for my sympathy. Because there were no strong men in her life who could take care of her, she believed she deserved my sympathy.

I wanted to tell her it probably wouldn’t have made much of a difference. I wanted to tell her to never wish for an absent father when she had a mother who sent her to school. I wanted to tell her, a brother probably wouldn’t be able to sell as many roses as fast as she did because she was smart and persuasive and knew to use those skills. I wanted to tell her that she was strong and she didn’t need to look up to a man to be strong for her.

I didn’t know how to tell her all this.

So, I know that she’ll grow up strong, a survivor despite her odds, but, she would never realise it. I know that the moment a man comes along, she’ll surrender her spirit until it’s broken by him. Then, she’ll rebuild herself, disillusioned, but still a survivor- just never realising that she was the strong one all along.

I hope with all my heart that I be proven wrong.