Mayank Maggie

He would puncture a cycle to take revenge for his friends. He wouldn’t stop playing Holi until everyone was drenched with water and colour. He reminded me of the typical Bollywood character one would try and associate a mischievous boy with, someone like Sharukh khan. He would take responsibility for me and my girl friends whenever we would venture out into the Melas. He loved playing cricket. He was there through all the colony functions as I danced my heart out. He would wait for me along with 5 others for a good 2 hours; as I sat and tried to finish my milk every evening; as mother threatened me that I couldn’t go out to play otherwise, and when it would slowly become dark; as I would step out, instead of glaring at me like the others, he would say ‘let’s play hide and seek?’ He was there for all my birthday parties and all the family functions. Some days we would spend hours playing, running around living life as children. Sometimes, he was an older brother to me but slowly we grew distant.
We stopped talking and acknowledging each as we grew older. We would each exchange a slanting stare and immediately look the other way ignoring the lovely childhood we’d spent together. As I grew even older, I started to think he was a creep. I had my reasons. And soon enough, Mayank didn’t belong to my present life. He was buried somewhere deep within the layers of my life.
He knew me at my genuine best, at my purest. He was my friend in the early years of my life and he accepted me just the way I was. That’s what brought the many tears to my eyes when I heard one day that he had passed away. That he had suffered miserably and finally left me. Selfish me? I don’t know about that.
It rained heavily on the 15th ma told me. They say he was a noble sole, of that however, I’m pretty sure.
Here’s to Mayank, and the very many golden memories that we shared together. Little did I know as a littal girl that one day, this day would arrive. To us, life was about laughter, and fun and games. I can be honest I loved it that way.
Here’s to Mayank Maggie, because I found that funny once long time ago…

The First Time

It’s the first time of every time,
It’s the uneasiness, it’s the butterflies,
Every moment seems filled with sunshine,
It’s that reflection of mine, in your eyes.

When we finally collide,
The secret glances I try to hide,
The awkwardness in every conversation,
The thoughts that merge with my minds elation.

The hesitation, it’s a sort of weakness,
I confide, in myself.
The wait, and the chase,
And all those moments.

The times I felt breathless,
Every occasion counts for pretty dresses,
I feel alive, my heart like drum roll
Beats, life seems sweet.

There seems to be hope,
There seems to be meaning, the ropes
Of my mind unchained, there seems to be
A feeling, which only I can comprehend.

And no matter how much I pretend.
I do look out for you every now and then,
And when you re not aware I wonder,
What it would be like to be with you,
Maybe there’s rain, maybe there’s thunder,
And you catch me off guard, and our
Worlds that till now stood barred,
Release, there is a sort of uncomfortable
Ease.

I carry this ease on my mind,
Whenever I find a broken part
Of the past edging in to my life,
Despite it being over,
Even though nothing ended well,
The roses seem faded,
And the lilies have lost their smell,
The first time of every time,
That merged with my minds elation,
Does away with all darkness,
And lights up my world with celebration

carried away

Carried away by whispers,
Visible in the glow of starlight
Of the mystic, magic night,
And the bright sun burnt
Sunlight.
I’m present in the dust,
That shimmers, I’m in the breeze.
An unmade bed, lays rustled like
The autumn leaves, the dark blue coat
That covers a crease.

My presence lies true to purity,
Of my existence there is no surety,
Courage defines me,
Cheaters are-
A deep-seated animosity
But you could look for me in most songs
And lovers, in passion and in
Push overs.
My spirit lies captured in
Discarded choices,
Unseen faces and unspoken voices;
In broken hearts, in photographs,
In wounds that fail to heal,
My secrets and my identity
Stay unrevealed.

I ride in dark waters and
In breathtaking Dreams,
Lonesome forests, above
Misty Mountain Seams.
I’m lured by prayers
And hungry wishes,
Wet colour complemented by
Dripping brushes.



I’m meant to wander
Be free, but life captures me
Into a new body,
Every time.
And Leaves me deprived
Of beauty and rhyme.

And behold there is a birth!
In a rich mans ditch,
In a poor mans hole,
And once more in the
Name of life, there is
Murder of the soul.

part 2

Forgone moments and laughter,
I run after,
Only to find,
They’ve been replaced by time.

We don’t meet
Or speak that often,
But in spring time
The flowers still blossom,
The postman still delivers
The letters,
Times keep changing from
Worse to better,
The mud still smells after
It has rained,
The farmer still cultivates
His grain,
The world still spins,
Evil always wins,
Love is never pure,
Greed has no cure,
Nights stand replaced
By dawn,
War still goes on.

But change chose
Us,
No matter how much
I try and revive,
Lost times,
They appear
Ingrained in that
Photo frame,
But you should know
That even though,
Now you belong to my past,
Our friendship will last.
And one day
When you have lost
Your way,
Will you come by
Again?
Dear old friend.

part 1

Will you come haunt me again? Dear friend.

Their voices brought me back to life. Their voices, forced me to live in a parallel world that belonged to none other, but my self. No matter how much I tried to grasp those voices, they would easily slip past my fingers like dry sand. They were very much alive in their own worlds; it was as if they belonged to a completely different galaxy. Here, where I existed, the people and the conversations were different. The difference was such that when I peered into a glass window, I wouldn’t know which one was reality, and which world was a mere reflection.

They seemed to hold deep dark secrets that I had grown out of, or maybe even forgotten.
It was strange how the faces, the habits, the jokes and the problems were still the same, but only time had been altered.
These voices were like spirits that whispered to me tales of my own story and interfered with my new born life. They were unfair like the waves that frequented the shores time and again. They left back imprints and dark patches on the face of the cold sands, as they stood welcoming them each time. The waves would come so close to the sea shore and then drift away, never to return in the same form.
They were like ghosts from my past that kept apparating into my present.
The only thing I couldn’t figure out was that if I should welcome them to stay with me, or leave them undisturbed in the graves of my memories.
They reminded me of how I used to be, and now that I had accepted change as an acquaintance, I don’t know if that was a good thing.

Whenever I met these ghosts however I would feel an insane high, one which would last as long as they were in my presence. Because soon I would wake up from this sweet dream and the hours of the new day would smother me completely.

It felt awkward to meet my ghosts again, like a stain on a cherished memory, like a dusty painting that lay ignored in the attic, which was now put to display in an art exhibition. Did it actually belong there?
Will you come haunt me again?
Dear friend.