My Midnight Friend

He likes to be the alpha male and he is very good at it. When he is sober he is not just good at concealing his emotions but also at not feeling them. But there is an air of melancholy about his blood-shot red drunk eyes as if he is significantly more experienced than all of us on the outside but morbidly worn out inside. He is my midnight friend. He is the new sound of water dripping in the sink.

I find comfort in the smell of alcohol lingering on his clothes, sleeping to the sound of him snoring and silently seeing him vanish from the worldly dimension while in company of many and then coming back to life upon hearing his name being called by one of us.

I have often seen him whirl into nonexistence among the crowd of drunk college students without any warning but  he always comes back for me. And, when my eyes meet his gaze from across the room full of multicolored clouds of smoke I know it is time to head home. And then I make him reconsider our friendship by demanding a hug after every two minutes in my slurry babbling speech. He complies and gives me warm hugs in the middle of the cold campus of our college. I know he finds me cute when my eyelids are heavy with sleepiness but my will to stay up and talk to him is heavier. I can see he enjoys taking care of me. But he can’t see how I look at him when we are alone.

He is my midnight friend because as soon as the sun rises and I leave his warm bed we move oceans and deserts apart. We’re two different worlds who only collide after the clock hits 12.


Is this what People Call Happiness?

It’s been quite some time since I wrote sad poetry on my skin with sharp objects. I don’t feel the barbed wire around my neck right now, and I can almost take a lungful of breath without feeling like I’ve been holding it for years. I don’t feel like all the air in the world is trying to suffocate me, anymore. It’s like, lately, I do not feel like me; sad, broken me.

What is it? Are the dark days of my life over? Is it dawn already, and the sun is finally peeking through those mountains of depression and anxiety to shine its light on my crusty venom-ridden skin? Do I not have to sleep with one eye open, in the fear of being attacked in the pitch-black dark, from now on? Are those demons that I used to see just shadows of the beautiful things around me?

I don’t feel threatened and broken anymore.

Is this what people call happiness?

Not a Black & White Rainbow anymore

They told me to be a rainbow

It was my fault

That I chose to be a black and white one.


They told me to add color to it

It was my fault

That I chose to add only the blue one


Now I don’t listen to them much

And here I am realizing

I was never meant to be a rainbow

I’ve always been the pot of gold at the end of it

-Happy (Finally)


Picture Credits: ©fineartamerica

Heart breaks even when You’re not in Love

Sometimes the broken hearted quotes that we repost aren’t for a lover
Sometimes they’re for;
A friend who was your human diary but decided to spill your secrets
A parent who left but should’ve stayed
A parent who stayed but should’ve left
A sibling who grew up too fast that he forgot the times you used to fight dragons together.
A cousin who died in the same OR he was supposed to come out of cured.
A neighbour who made you feel less lonely.
A roommate who decided to change rooms unable to keep up with your bipolarity.

Hearts break… All the time.

Stop associating your made up assumptions with someone else’s heartache

I Wasn’t Transforming I Was Hating (Part-1/2)

8:25 am

A chill ran down my spine as I approached my friend who just collapsed on the floor without a warning. I try to pick her up but she slips from my embrace back on the ground making a thud sound. Helpless, I move back as other people help her up. I just stand there shivering. No one knows what I know. The doctors had said that due to a non-operatable cyst in one of the critical parts of her hindbrain she won’t be able to live for long. I know this other people in the room don’t.
Is she dying?

9: 15 am

She survives.

She’s fine now.

I’m focusing on keeping my breathing normal and I keep staring at the teacher not hearing what he’s saying.

2:00 pm

I go back to my dorm, lie down on my unmade bed and try to disappear in the sheets. I fall asleep and I’m floating or it’s just a dream.

4: 30 pm

I’m at the bank of a river holding on to something, I’m coughing as if I was drowning & someone pulled me out of the water. I look back and I see my family drowning. 

I’m helpless once again.  

I wake up. 

It was a nightmare, a recurring one. I think it’s because I can’t recover from the time I almost drowned but didn’t.

I get up make myself a cup of tea and go out for a walk. 

5:00 pm

There’s something stuck at the back of my mind it seems to be there since the night my sister’s friend died right after taking her very last examination of MBBS. (Dr. Arooj I hope you’re at a better place) 

As I take another sip of my tea I realise what’s bothering me. It’s a comment someone left on my blog.

What was the comment?

Something about hate.

Who hated whom?

Then it comes to me, a vivid recollection of a comment saying there’s too much hatred in my writing.

“Rubbish!”, I whisper, ” It’s not hate, I tell people to keep their guards up that’s not hating.. that’s protecting. I don’t promote hate, do I? It’s called playing safe.”

Now, I’m not sure if I believe this or am just trying to make myself believe this.

So was it all hatred that I developed inside me that I proudly called my transformation?

Part-2 ahead.

I Give Up

Growing up while witnessing affliction every day either live or through the T.V screen , I developed a vision to change the world, to obliterate the sufferings and to spread felicity. I thought if I could feel someone else’s pain I would feel their happiness too. So I set out on a journey to change the world and make it a better place.

In the book, The One Who Walk Away From Omelas the writer has given a description of a euphoric place Omelas where everything is perfect and everyone is happy but this happiness requires a sacrifice. That sacrifice is a little child. Suffering of a little child trapped under that town resulted in the happiness of the whole population.

If I had a choice I’d be that child. Infact I tried to be that child but my suffering remain mine and it made nothing better. After trying and failing in my ambition for years now I’m looking for signs from God to tell me not to give up but I see no signs. The only thing that I see, trapped at the bottom of a dark deep ditch people call failure, is the moon and my failed ambition to change the world staring back at me. Where are the signs? I see no signs.

So tonight I’ll just sit here and pretend everything is fine even if it’s not. I know it’s not. I’ll turn off the news channels, I’ll blind myself to this world where children are crying, women are screaming and soldiers are dying every second. I’ll pretend everything is fine because I can’t change anything. I tried everything in my power to lessen the sufferings but I didn’t succeed. So I’ll just sit on the cold hard ground with my eyes closed, feeling the cold embrace of my own hands against my waist and I’ll pretend I never wanted to change the world. I’ll try to forget my war against the world. I’ll pretend I never started one.
I give up on you, Oh world.

I give up on you and your people.

I give up.

Spotting The Serpents

It’s been almost a year since I have moved out of my parents’ home. The thing about moving out is that the moment we step out of our comfort-zone we question what will happen and you know what eventually life happens whether we like it or not.

In the last few months, I have learnt many things not as a lesson always, sometimes it was just bestowed upon me as an advice from either myself or from a random good-for-nothing someone. (Tip: Hear everyone closely sometimes even the fools say the wisest things)

I’ve been reflecting upon this particular quote.

When you’re pointing a finger at someone you also have three fingers pointing back at you.

– Anonymous

Everytime anything goes wrong we feel obligated to blame someone else as if we are being devoured by the tormenting desire to point our fingers in someone else’s direction akin to a bow that always shoots the arrow away from the shooter and never in reverse. THIS! THIS RIGHT HERE! This is the social evil that goes unacknowledged.

The thing is that we refrain from any sort of self-analysis or acknowledgement of our own flaws. We don’t have the will to commence a quest for our flaws and shortcomings. Even in group projects one person does the work and rest take the credit, and even then on getting Grade A we don’t thank them but on getting B we religiously fulfill our obligation to remind them that we could’ve done better. Unfortunately I’ve made acquaintance with a girl in my class who always plays the victim as if everyone in her life played her. In the beginning I bought all what she said but later I realized she’s the one doing everyone wrong. It is so easy for her to point out everyone’s flaws and slander them for things they didn’t even do.

At many other occasions I’ve seen people talk about other people as the ones who entered their lives as friends and left as Serpents. My perception that maybe the book is what it’s cover shows has literally changed to never judge the book by it’s cover and in real life not even by the story it tells unless you can identify the truth from the lies. If you look closer you’ll see the world as I see it.

I see the world as a place full of bloody venomous fanged mouths prodigiously accusing others of being the serpents.

It’s time we dedicate at least a trifle amount of our time everyday to reflect on our actions and maybe learn to take 50% responsibility when things go wrong instead of being in denial with our fingers pointing in any direction but ours.
Sometimes we can be the villain of someone’s story but why be the snake in the grass when we can be the predator who attacks upfront?

I’d rather be a straight up enemy to someone than be an unloyal friend and I’d rather express my hatred to someone’s face than slander them behind their backs.


Yes, I have cancer.

On February 1, 16 we were given the results of my biopsy. My mother seemed quite disturbed. I, on the other hand oblivious of the medical terms being used was quite confident that my mother was over-reacting over some sort of ordinary infection as always. (Mothers I tell you!) Till three days later when it was revealed to me that torrents of torment were about to flood my life alongside chemotherapy and a year off from college.. 

Reflecting back, I was as thankless as a serpent. A rebellious teenager telling my parents I hated them and how my life was pathetic and now? I long for one chance, just one chance that I know I’m not destined to be granted. How for once I want to be my old self again just to make things right but I can’t.. How I desire what every human being takes forgranted.. health.

– While I’m sitting here hairless, smelling like a whole damn hospital, they’re flaunting their Victoria’s Secret merch.

-While all the people my age are staying up till midnight, flirting with their crushes, my internet search history comprises of some dark and twisty things that end up relating to death one way or another.

-As the world goes to sleep promising a better tomorrow, I sleep wondering if there will be one for me or not.

-Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night.. Oh! Not by the vibration of a text but by the affliction caused by myriads of hypothetical wrecking balls set on fire blasting my body.
-While they are complaining how their friends have turned out to be traitors, I can’t even commence to elaborate what it’s like to have your own body betray you in comparison.

-While my family is telling me sleep fights cancer I no longer want to fight cancer. Let it win already!

Next time you cry over someone  who doesn’t notice you or because you can’t afford the latest iPhone remember there’s always someone fighting a tougher battle than you. I have everything in my life from love to wealth. The only thing that I’m deprived of is time and I’d do anything to be anyone but me right now but unfortunately I can’t.

You think life is unfair? Wait till you have cancer. ( I hope you don’t though) *sighs* me and my sense of humor. 


After my previous article Yes, I was raped. I decided to use the first person narration again to make it more effective for the readers but as everyone in the comment section is asking me about my health let me clarify.

This is the story of my maternal aunt who was the same age as me when she went through this. She was diagnosed with leukemia and she lost the battle against cancer on 3rd February that year ( REST IN PEACE).. she left a void inside my chest and I wrote this article using first person narration to make it more affective for the readers and to see myself in her shoes.. Thank you for showing concern it means a lot. ❤

Whereas me? I’m living a healthy life..

Outgrowing Myself.

Remember that article of clothing  your mom bought for you when you were a kid that you fell in love with? Whether you over-wore it or under-wore it eventually that inevitable day arrived when you outgrew it.

In a book that I read recently the author talked about outgrowing her childhood best friend. You know how the one you thought was your partner in crime and your soulmate turns into a stranger, an acquaintance or a foe. I could relate to it more than I wanted to but after pondering upon this I realized I didn’t outgrow them, I outgrew myself.

In my initial teenage, I was a stereotypical, attention seeking girl with social circle bigger than an Indian family; oh the number of followers and likes were always booming. I posed to be someone I wasn’t, chasing trends, seeking approval from friends ( who were also fake), going to extreme levels to improve my dressing, acting like a rich kid with an adventurous life on social sites and longing to meet the modern standards of life.

In the blink of an eye, I have transformed into something new, something I like to call the “real” me. I have freed myself from the pressure to be perfect now that I’ve outgrown my younger self.
If my 16 year old self could see me she’d be stunned and probably would call me a 49 years old, boring cat-lady because this real me is everything that my younger self wasn’t.
I can go outside without feeling the need to look like a preposterous ramp walking model. 99 likes on a selfie don’t make me feel like I’m a displeasing embodiment of ugliness walking on  Earth and 100+ likes don’t make me feel the opposite. Gigi Hadid and Kendall Jenner aren’t the standards of beauty for me. My social circle is smaller than the keyhole in my  cupboard. Now I set my own bars and I like them low and authentically achievable.  “What will people say?” is the last thing on my mind.

Maturity or ignorance? I’m not sure what this is but I’m stronger than ever.