Instances of being


Oh ! the great perils of romance are that you get it at the worst times in your life. And then you savour it for the brief time you have it for. Relationships are weird and convoluted always, but on some dark days, they are your getaway car for escaping out of a war zone.


Instances 3/50, instances of just being.

Confessions : Of Uncertainty


The whirlpool of “what ifs” is terrible. Running around in circles of uncertainty can make even the most confident person falter their step. I’m not sure when I wrote this little piece, for I have moved far too many times to far too distant places, dreamed of it even. But now that I re-read it, the timing seems apt and a love far too real gets left behind again.






This is a part of Confessions Series. Written and forgotten in old sketchbooks, bought to life again here.

Confessions : Of Falling Apart


Sometimes I just can’t edit my larger monologues into shorter crisper versions. Sometimes I’m just too attached to the documented version of me.  Anyway, Falling apart is a process not a singular event. So might as well immerse yourself in the process,right?





This is a part of Confession Series, written in old sketch books revived to life here.

Confessions: Of Reason


They say old habits die hard. I say the only reason old habits/people/things stick around because we reason with ourselves that the murky history is essential, because who are we if not for our pasts ?





This is a part of Confession Series , little figments of writings scribbled down in old sketchbooks bought to life here.


Confessions: Of Ambiguity


It is strange that how I wrote these little snippets of advice to myself obscuring it with whole lot of  drama that I was then facing. I’ve always disliked being ambiguous about my life because of the kind of control freak that I am, but when I think about it, the most joy I’ve ever had in writing my short stories or drawing was when I was ambiguous of what I wanted and every word that I joined on the paper to make a sentence would be a surprise.



This is a part of a series of confessions, written in old sketchbooks bought to life here on this blog.

Confessions: Of Hope


Everyday when I step out of my house, I tell myself that hope is the worst feeling to take with you when dealing with the outside world. But occasionally you give in, you give in to be hopeful about something or someone. It is at these points that you are the most vulnerable too, because hope and disappointment are strange partners that come in pairs of two. I don’t remember when I wrote this note , but it seems like I’m hopeful once again and keeping an eye out for things to fall apart.

Confessions: of Giving up


They say that you find what you seek.  And I might not find what I want for I know not what to seek, but that’s okay. I gave up on this endless search for another person until I’ve come to terms with living with myself.

This is a part of a Confession series, where old memories and thoughts of the past left behind in my old sketchbooks are bought to life here.

Like, Adore and Love


I like the fact that I’m alone, sometimes disturbingly so. I like the fact that I seek the ambiguous, don’t ask me what it is. I like the fact that I can loath myself to a point that nothing effects me anymore. I adore the fact that I’m dramatic , especially during the most innocuous moments.I like the idea of beauty, it feels like it is my right to question it when I travel

I adore the fact that I stop myself from complaining even though only I actually can define the venting from cribbing .I adore jazz of old world, makes me feel like i was born in a wrong place and the wrong decade.  I love the fact that I’m helpless in some situations, it feels like those knockouts in the boxing ring and just proves the fact that I have to train harder. I Love the fact that I’m ugly, It made me want to burrow myself to find out something about myself that isn’t superficial. I love the fact that I’m a liar, it introduces me to people who can see the fake from real. I love the fact that I pretend to be myself ,all the while second guessing myself.

Mostly I like to adore the things that make me want to redefine the idea of love.