Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections

To Live as surely as I am going to Die | A Poem | Life Cycle of a Star

I am withdrawing back.
I am taking back an emotional dependency that I used to throw at others in my life.
I am taking back expectations of having someone by my side, all the time, all my life.
I am taking back the idea of an eternal commitment from others.
I am taking back perfection and its delusional anticipation in relationships I live.
It is not negative or hopeless. It is quietly re-strengthening, resurrecting.
It sounds hopeless and negative in my words. But when have my words ever sounded just as I have wanted them to?
Hopeless is not how I feel when I talk about withdrawing from all this love business.
The romantic love of course. The idea of a sexual partner.
What am I going to do with my sexual urges then, it can be asked?
What am I going to orgasm at?
The answer is slowly rising within me, taking its time, ascending at a pace of its own.
Please hold on a while longer.
What am I going to orgasm at, if not humans?
At pleasures hidden in small things of this world.
Like the orgasm I had in a model making class.
Without any human touch. Without any human involvement.
Just a task at hand, to be completed in given time.
No competition with anyone else except me.
High stakes for the expectations I have only from me.
Releasing a knot of insecurity, with every fold of paper.
Increasing blood flow in my body with every sealed edge of the cube.
That self induced orgasm was like none other I ever had.
The ones induced by humans were but its reflections, on multiple mirrors, weakened at every mirror on the way.
I am letting in, the thought of being completely alone, all my life. Of being incomparable to anything or anybody else.
At least incomparable in the existing definitions of comparison in the world.
I am withdrawing from the idea of someone understanding me completely.
I am withdrawing from the idea of needing this someone entirely.
I am withdrawing from reflections of people giving me orgasms.
I am letting in the idea of a passion that is universal. In things and humans alike.
Intrinsic like the one I had when I was in the model making class.
*I am getting hurt over and over again by people.
Rather, I am letting myself get hurt over and over again by people.
Why am I letting them hurt me?
Why am I dependent on them to give me orgasms?
I can be dependent on them for other things but
Why am I dependent on them for my inner peace?
Inner Peace
What is Inner Peace?
A star is a ball of gases waiting to explode away into space (Life) and implode into its center (Death), all at once.
Inner Peace is the state of a star when both the violent forces of Life and Death are in cancellation of each other.
The state of a star when everything is silent yet everything is moving.
No pressure differences. No effective displacement. Neither a collapse nor an expanse.
And yet an underlying dynamism, a tension, a tug of war between the two halves. It is a Peace with a lot of violence ongoing.
Helping maintain a steady stream of heat and light on its way into space, brightening the darkness a little more.
And all this while all the fuel lasts. While the star isn’t dead yet.
I am going to die soon as well. Like a star .
A deep breath suffices the realization that with each breath I am shedding some parts, irreversibly, of my self.
A part that has burnt out and shall not return. I am dying.
I already have an urge to burn out. Faster. Quicker. Wilder.
And that is when I realize how Death is already on the rise.
And before it gets all the better parts of me, I want to give Life a chance.
I want to Live as surely as I am going to Die.


Thursday Thoughts

Posted in Originals, Reflections

True Freedom is Designing your own Life | Reasons to be an architectural journalist

Architectural journalism needs to be brought back to people as architecture needs to be brought back to people as well. Stories of how creation happens is something that has been too sacrosanct to even talk about in our society. Either is too unimportant to not matter and passes by as Jugaad. Or it is made extremely out of the reach of common man when seen as the commodity of the extremely wealthy and, simply, lucky people of the society.

Good design is like a basic right. It is like primary education. People need to be aware enough to design a good life for themselves, and the environment they build for themselves is a very important part of that design. The passive environment that they construct around them, which ends up affecting all their active activities, thus plays a very important role in how their lives turn out.

In our Information age, information is being declared a basic human right by the union of nations worldwide, the UN. Like basic health care and primary education, unlimited access to information has been deemed the same value as things that keep a human being alive. And I believe this information needs to include the information about how to design a good life for ourselves.

Architecture and art as modes of designing lives for ourselves, need to be brought back to the people of the world. Those in power have time and again tried to seize this basic human right from individuals and the powerless. They have built huge unimaginably grand and complex structures, sometimes functional sometimes out of faith, in order to extend the consciousness of their authority over people, in their everyday life. So that whenever a person walks into a grand temple or a mosque or a huge city built where there was once the ocean, they are left spellbound by the capabilities of those in power. How and how much can they control their lives and can have their lives controlled by those in power?

True freedom is in a emancipated and free mind. The mind that can make its own decisions, choose for itself, make mistakes and then have the courage to correct those mistakes. Without freedom, we are no different from the robots – lifeless, egoless, selfless. We are the nightmare that the dystopian science fiction predicts for the future. We are that nightmare today and now. And no this thought is not anti developmental or defeatist. This thought is a step towards a wise way of life that has been time and again predicted by many a Cassandra’s of the world. The prediction that each one when fully aware and in acceptance of their job, working to their fullest capacity, even if under a subjugating regime, contributes to a bigger structure that can achieve great things. If those at the individual levels of a group or organization, be it a multinational corporation or the human body, are denied their freedom, we end up creating highly efficient yet unsustainable organizations. We end up creating slaves and not comrades. We end up creating men and women who are continuously at competition with each other in terms of who can follow the orders the best. And not those that work in competition with themselves, bettering themselves from their yesterday’s self.

One of the most important ingredients of a sovereign and independent way of life is the ability to create. To create opportunities out of difficulties. To create dreams out of failures. To create success out of setbacks. To create. To be able to create. To have the freedom to create lives, designs, houses, localities, cities, countries, etc. And this design thinking needs to be made more common, more mainstream. More removed from the elite class who have a lot of time and money to spend, to the most downtrodden ones who struggle to make ends meet. They both should be able to choose and design a life of their choice for themselves. They both need to be in a position to choose the kinds of lifestyles they find best suitable to their tastes and their abilities, irrespective of where they begin. They should be in freedom to take steps towards the kinds of lives they choose to live, wherever the starting point. The delta, the difference between the life they inherited and that which they leave behind is what counts in the end. The distance we all came along the way, is the most important thing. And nothing else matters.

Bringing this design thinking, in all its dualities of scientific as well artistic/intuitive aspects, to the people is what I wish to achieve in the long run. To bring art and science of designing ones surroundings, ones living and working spaces, ones breathing and loving spaces, ones dancing and collaborating spaces, is what I wish to achieve with my inherent love for storytelling. For storytelling is one of the most efficient and effective ways to reach out to the empathetic beings that we are, the human race. To help them find themselves in the stories of others. To help them be inspired by the stories of others who have made it to the other side, of finding their freedoms and living with the responsibility of that freedom.

The future belongs to the deeply liberated and self realized individuals, that function as organizations in themselves. The era of the specialist is on the downfall. The one who can specialize in multiple arenas, or at least be a jack of multiple arenas is the one that will survive. From modern day politics to the chaos theory in science, we are time and again seeing how the jack of many trades is multiple notches ahead of the master of a few. The spider’s web in two dimensions is far more enduring than a single thick thread it spits out linearly. And the spiders of the world, the designers of their lives, all humans alike, require this information. They require the skills and inspirations to pursue the ambition of building a web more often and more robust.


Delayed Monday Contemplations

Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections

Keep Standing Keep Fighting | A Poem for the Warrior Soul

There will be another chance, another battle,

when you can claim back your war.

There were battles where you performed so good.

There were battles you slayed the enemy.

And then there were those where you were slain

down to pieces, even if with the swords of love.

Even if with swords of misty, cloudy, confusing but still,

love. There will be another day, another battle for you to slay.

Keep standing. Keep fighting. Keep working on who you want to be

after those battles have been won. After the war has been won.

Keep standing. Keep fighting.


Thursday Thoughts

Posted in Artists, Originals, Poetry, Reflections

It’s My Life(BonJovi) and I am taking it back | A Poem

I wriggled I gurgled I ached in pain

Pain of seeing such beauty around me

And realizing why did I not see it earlier

Or why did it hid itself from me for so long

It was a painful celebration, of the delay

The delay in the arrival, arrival of wisdom

Arrival of love, of beauty.

And I danced. I shrieked in pleasure

From the bottom of my guts

Where for a very long time,

Lay only an aching dragon, wilted

There was now a gushing stream of fresh water.

Impure with all the mirth of my body

Opaque with the mud it was cleansing out

Yes, my art was dirty and imperfect

And that was all you could see, all you saw

It never occurred to you that the stream of water

Was my monumental achievement, my bare soul

You called it ordinary, You called it mediocre

I don’t know what you meant when you said it

What emotions flowed between your lines

But I enslaved myself to your words

I stopped making art. I stopped committing the crime

Of being ordinary. Of being mediocre.

No longer want to be a criminal

No longer can stnad being one. So I gave up.

Quietly. Disgruntlingly. Insidiously. Invisibly.


As underteen girls, me and my sisters,

used to climb the garden swing.

And with all the force of our young bodies,

And coordination of our young minds

Pushed it up to the maximum heights

The swing could reach with us aboard.

And then, we would shriek at the top of our voices

‘It’s my life

And it’s now or never

I ain’t gonna live forever

I just wanna live while I am alive

Coz It’s my life

My heart is like an open highway

Like Frankie said I did it my way

I just wanna live while I am alive

Coz It’s. My. Life.’


Jon Bon Jovi was the original

But we were the artists in that moment

We were the channels of the spirit that flowed

Through that inspired piece of poetry.

We were the loud speakers that delivered

Those words of wisdom for the world to listen

Even if that world consisted of

The rainy end of summer clouds

The dried tree across the boundary wall

A black crow perched on top of its highest branch

And the endless ether suspended between us

And the whole universe.

We were Gods in those moments.

We were wild and free streams

We were art. We were creating art.

We were living art. We were being art.


I now know it is a crime to think

Those girls were not artists in that moment

I know it is a crime to strangle their impulses

To imagine, to imbibe and to regurgitate their beloved art

In the name of practicality and sensibility

And you know what I think is the real crime?

To fear creation, to fear flowing along side my muses

Out of fear of offending you, of living a life below your standards?

It’s My Life and this is me taking my Life back.



Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections

Your Grey Memories 

D’you see the grey ring, my love 

It’s how I cherish your memory

A grey circle of your voice 

Conjuring on my screen 

With every word you utter 

Just’s my heart skips a beat

Listening to your bleeding heart

Fr’m behind your 70ft walls

Booze attendin’ to your demons

And freein’ your soul for me

The grey circle is your soul

Reachin’ out for its love

And it’s me, oh it’s me indeed 

The one yo’r heart rushes to

No matt’r how, no matt’r what



New stories monday thursday 

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Posted in Artists, Originals, Poetry, Reflections

i want to celebrate this mourning | back to black | amy winehouse

I want to celebrate this mourning.

I want to do something for the fallen ruins that my life has become.

I want to dance around in its broken halls.

Feel the stone reverberating with the rhythm of my beat.

I want to bleed on its dusty floors.

Remember all the mistakes I made during my stay here.

One last time.

I want to celebrate this mourning.

I want to stand on the hill top staring down the dying Sun.

I want to go blind in the fierce flames as it reaches its end.

Feel the heat in the air seep into my lungs.

Then empty my lungs in a beautiful whirlwind against the twilight.

One last time.

I want to celebrate this mourning.

I want take a last cycle ride around the broken walls.

I want to exhaust my dying heart and test theri capacity to the full.

Allowing it to collapse in style and a motherfuckitude.

I want to sweat my wrinkled skin to the point it chokes in the saltwater

Remembering the old lesson that life is death and death is life.

One last time.


New stories – Monday Thursday

I promise to keep up this time