Cold hand and warm smiles

28th March, 2021

It was a chaotic Sunday afternoon, with the scorching heat burning my face, my black crop top and cardigan too, helped the sun with its play, I awaited the arrival of the one who was sailing away.

There he was, with his navy blue sweatshirt that had ‘hints of Black’ Matching mine, a white tee, that had blobs of sweat and Paco Rabanne smelling from a mile away, he swayed like the autumn winds, with his hands tucked inside his pockets and his eyes smiled from far away.

Can we go now? I said in my grim voice, I practised my blank look prior to the meet, for navy pants made me wait,

What, no hello or hi?
His soft brown eyes looked straight into mine,

A million moths revolted inside my empty stomach that time, with an eye roll I hushed him off.


Our coffee will be here in 2 mins, let’s sit,come on,

He pulled out a chair as we sat across that ambiguously loud cafe,

Bela ciao played in the background that time, as the main chorus echoed in the cold air, he removed his blue mask and warmly smiled at me, the smile wasn’t the same his adventurous social media posts portrayed, this one rather gave his cheeks a pinkish hue, the wrinkles around his eyes too popped up in play,
His skin looked more soft and supple than they did in those blurry video calls we had everyday, droplets of sweat aligned by his forehead, and his nose, he shyly hushed those off by constantly touching his face or grooming his hair. 

I wish I could carry a polaroid to click every-time Mr. Serious face came out of his comfort zone to live life in a casual way. 

Did I mention his ‘fan’ following?

More than a few pretty chicas  had their eyes trailed off in his way,  their stare  hooked onto to his face, or his mouth or the way he talked with ease and kept smiling away. Yet naive eyes were glued in my way, like a kid gaurding his favorite thing.

The Meet was one of a kind, one I have never had anyone at all, I know his sceptical detective mind wouldn’t accept things at face value ever, for his curious eyes often look out for the things unsaid,  the eye rolls I often gave, the way I smiled or smirked or even had a serious face, he loves to know more about what’s beneath the facade. 

I had more smiles to crease, especially the time we walked down the stair of the ancient cafe hallway, I missed a step for I was busy searching for the cat I met in way, he quickly clasped my hand with his cold ones,

Are you alright?

His eyes looked into  mine, another set of fireflies flew inside my gut that time

I smiled beneath my mask and nodded my head.

This first meet, with ‘cold coffee that tasted like liquid vanilla ice cream, the carrot juice that was fresh and sweet like his forehead kiss he showered me with when we parted our ways, the chocolate cupcake, which we shared, or which I rather ordered him to eat halfway, the cigarette puff which he hesitantly passed my way, or the way my overthinking mind was at ease the entire time, was beyond perfect, something I would love to have everyday. 

Why are we like this?

We think more than we feel,

Think before we sleep, we eat,or play,

Think before making decisions, helping stranger in way,

Think about what could be,what might be, what is and what shouldn’t be,

Think about thinking in numerous ways,

Only to be disappointed when it doesnt match the thinking guidelines given by thinkers who used to think night and day,

I think therefore I am,

What if your thinking doenst let you be who you are?

Or is it to be is to think??

Or if you think then there’s too much to be?


Too much thinking for me.

The paradoxical one.

She is unsure and uncertain in life, she wants a few things, yet doesnt want them too. She would initiate the conversation then feel it losing it’s sight and in time with her lack of effort, it’ll die.

For she knows they’d have many others whom they would talk to, she’d assume small things and get nervous all the time, “why did you type the Okay ♥️ as ok, / okay / k/ this time?”The others she wonders about the tone of their text and replies, “were they in a hurry or did they wish to talk to me after a while?”

“Why didn’t they use their regular emoji, or are they done with her hopeless plight?”

She deletes messages quite often too,for her anxiety tells her it sounds too rude or maybe not right, what if they feel bad? What if they read in between the lines? They cant see her vulnerable side.

Sudden calls from strangers scare her to death,do they expect a specific reply? Is hmm and haan and okay and yeah, fine? What if they feel she is not contributing to the conversation at all,her heart comes to her mouth, she feels like 1 year old, she babbles or mumbles or at times is inaudiblely loud.

At times,she is sure of her mind, sure of the things she has to say and feels about the people around, yes doubts and fear cross her mind, but her heart comes to resuce those times.

The others, her heart plays tricks on her mind, for it doesn’t understand the difference between infatuation or lust, confuses it with love and keeps her awake all night.

Yes she overthinks, she has scales of measurement for this overthinking too, a bit done every now and then seems fine, she takes overthinking breaks in between her day, thinks about the topic from all the sides and even tho the stimulus is out of her sight it still revolves in her mind.

Is it yes or was it no?”

She dislikes the term in between and people giving her ambiguous hues. She likes weird and confusing things for sure,

The puzzle the daily crossword, the sudoku hurl, the Rubik’s cube, confusing it may be for others but she’d try all the combinations and solve it overnight, and if not, then mess up the code and add more sequences to her plight.

At times she is nervous and shy,like the naive Caterpillar that transforms into a beautiful butterfly, she is oh so cautious and alert of her moves, never to harm a soul and usually complies.

The others she is bold and scary they say, like the moth, that’s as dark as the ruinous sky, you’d shoo her off, so that she doesn’t ruin your cashmere shawl overnight,

She’s reckless and wild, is attracted to dangerous people who often hurt her or leave her in the absence of light, is attracted to the feral fire that could burn her core, yet she wishes to go near it, to warm her numb soul.


Life for her is a puzzle,

one cannot fathom right away

It is never truly black nor white,

At times it’s blue and purple, red and grey,

So arrange every piece that comes your way,

And that’s how she lives her life, everyday.

Poem 48#

They all love the red rose,
Tell me,
They are allured by his aura so bright.
His soft petals, they adore,
It’s vibrant hue, they match with their core.
But his thorns they pluck aside.
For it pins the wound, they wish to ignore.

Yet I can’t stop loving his thorns,
The sweet pain,
It makes my numb heart, alive.

I hide him away from the world, undisclosed.
He rests,
In between the crevices of my grim diary,
One filled with dried ink and lost hope.

Mum told me,
That one day I shall throw him out of my sight,
Will stop loving it’s thorns.
Stop checking up on him.
In time, he will die.

Yet everytime I try to keep the rose away from me,
I feel like the naive bird,
Who flutters in the direction unknown,
Until her debilitated heart can no more explore,
It aches to go home,to her abode.

Mum found my diary, tonight,
She threw him away
Out of her sight.
For she said
It was
for the best,my child.

And now,

We both die,

Little by little,

Under the moon’s glint light.

I’m sorry, mom.

Mom gives me a glass of warm turmeric milk

With rasins, that seem too dry,

But are too sweet, like the candy he liked.
Tells me to chant ‘Om’ a number of times,

Or just start counting 1-1000,

‘You’ll be asleep in no time, my child

And when I reach the number 6662,

I finally rest my eyes,

I am trapped in that room again,

With white walls and an empty bed.

My heart, it beats louder,

than my muffled voice,

The ceiling fan echoes his steps

Faster!’ it yells,

run away this time!

And I retreat back to my wooden door,

Open the gates,

To the brackish water, I’ve always known.

I wish I could swim in it, at times


I drown.

But lie awake,

Every night.

I am sorry mom, this is why I can’t sleep at night.

Poem 44#

The little sparrow kept humming a cheerful song today, she sang about the one she adored from far away, how fell for his gentle soul,passion oozed through his words and curiousity shadowed his life.

She sang of the days they first met, danced and rejoiced as she reminisced the past, happily chirped around. The crows and parrots supported her chime.

But then she suddenly became too quiet, her cheerful chirps altered into an elegy, a mournful cry.

He’d left her to move away to a far away land, for he was a curious soul, a wanderer that dreamt about the life high up in the sky.

She couldn’t ever confess her undying love for him, for she knew it would burden his soul, hinder him from achieving his goal.

Thus she decided to move away from him, she pushed him away and left his side.

But now,

She sings an elegy for him every day.

Tells him how she waits for him every night,

how she prays to the almighty he is all right,

That he flies high up in the sky,

she believes he’ll do it one day.

Tells him how she still loves him after all this while.

She hopes that he comes back, someday, in time.

Poem 43#

I often agree on one thing,
But end up doing the exact opposite, all the time.
I told you I won’t contact you ever again,
Yet every night as I am about to fall asleep,
I keep revisiting our old chats,
The fights, the assumptions,
The closure and oh the goodbyes,
All come back like to life.
I find new ways to reconnect with you,
But when I do,
I realize you are fine without me,
That my messages would be replied back in a word or three.
That I should be the one to always text first,
For without that, the conversation between us would be none.

But even during that time,

I’d never lose hope,
I’d start the conversation anew,
Feed myself a lie
One that would make me feel, maybe you are shy,
Maybe you didn’t know how to open up to strangers, after all this time.
Only to make a fool out of myself,
When you tell me about your night life.
I guess, it was my fault after all,
I couldn’t keep up with those goodbyes.
I often wanted the closure,
Wished for that last goodbye,
Or to meet you, just one last time.

And now,

In between all of those messages,
And those lies,
The girl infront of me,
I hardly recognise.