heaven is here

you go,
wherever the urgency of time
leads you.

i wish to stay here,
where the pink of the sky is just within reach,
& where waves crash & fall,
like a million diamonds scattering.

where cherry blossoms bloom,
with all their might,
& whirl away softly,
by a cool breeze.

i want to be consumed,
soaked by the sky.

you go claim mountains,
as if they were your own,
i will be here,
as still as the ocean bed,
as roaring as its gut.

말 없는 슬픔 – 사람또사람

First you play the song below, then you read.

I stand under the kitchen light, chopping carrots while the oil in the pot simmers. Every chomp an echo punctuating the song playing on my phone I recklessly placed on the kitchen slab.

It’s a song in a language I don’t completely understand but I feel it sewing itself up to my heart.

I stand under the only lit space in my house. House not home. Rest is all in darkness, with no movement, nothing.

The chopping becomes slow, distracted until with a final thump it ceases. I glance at the perfect empty space around me, what a metaphor for this heart. The song plays like a perfect soundtrack.

If I’m looked at from a distance, there will be a kitchen with a light, with greyish dark around & a girl standing with a knife looking at nothing.

I spend entire days not speaking a word. But my head doesn’t seem to stop buzzing. This imbalance is starting to hurt. My head makes me think of you without a face, all the time.

I’m trying to draw you in my mind.

I remember you told me you loved sunsets. Particularly the ones silhouetted in clouds. Tonight I feel like a sunset too. Except nothing about me is pink. I don’t glow. I am only shrouded in clouds and I’m sinking.

Everything would make sense with you here, even the sinking.

The catch is, I don’t know who you are.



Love always,

Your blogger.

Here’s to our Happy Endings

Hello all,

I have finally found the reason people cling to stories. 

They use fiction to heal what reality breaks. Forgive me, I do not wish to blindly mar what I dislike, but reality isn’t always pretty, nor is it anywhere close to how our heart wishes it to be. Reality and fiction run parallel, and some of us find ourselves hopelessly clinging to both with life ordaining us to maintain a healthy balance. 

It is a secret trapdoor in our vast, intimidating and often tedious material world. Some of us (rather most) wish to secretly escape through that door, never to return, while some sigh at its impossibility and content themselves with occasional peaks through it. 

I belong somewhere in the middle. There are periods where I open that trapdoor, climb through and sit there to my heart’s content. I believe I am the happiest then. Other days I try to be rational and real, two words I sincerely dislike (though understand their gravity). But even in reality, a tiny fraction in my heart still dwells in stories and imagination (and magic).

I believe others do that too; take that trapdoor with them. It gives them a tool, a feeling that helps keep the drudgery of life away, that tool is hope. The greatest drug, the foundation of our present and the promise of our future. It saves lives. It is what makes us brush the dust off and walk again.

Stories are like a bridge connecting us to that hope. They help allay our grief, ‘It’s okay. It’ll get better. Eventually. One day.’ They are a proof that we deserve happy endings, more importantly, that happy endings are possible. That they exist. 

Fiction helps mellow today’s hurt. So keep reading, listening, watching through your trapdoor. Keep it alive. There is a bright, luminous promise somewhere in there that things will be better.

They have to be. 

Love always,
Your blogger. 

Some Great Elysium

I need you to be in a specific mood before reading this post. It’s important. So before you go on reading, I want you to watch this video and listen to this song. Then we’ll talk.

I hope you liked the song. I’ve listened to it 14 times already.

For a long while, I’ve harbored this notion that everybody, in some phase of their life, has a ‘turning point.’ A day, or maybe a month or maybe a year in which things happened that changed you. For better or for worse.

My best friend and I have a code name for this, we like to call it the ‘year.’ Mostly because for both of us it was this one particular year that changed us, completely. So whenever we see somebody in  a ‘pre-year’ phase, we shake our heads and say, ‘Oh he just hasn’t had his ‘year’ yet.’ 

Most of the time, these changes are permanent. This is what hones us as we grow up. This is what gives us our unique personality. This is what makes each one of us different. Anything could trigger this change- One particular incident, a series of incidents, a heavy loss, some serious betrayal, a miracle, serendipity?  Like I said- for better or for worse.

Nevertheless, these changes are important. To some they might be heartbreaking and they might miss the person they were before the change. To some, it would almost seem magical.

These are certain periods in your life that are specifically designed for you to learn from. You might not see it on the surface but they’re here to provide answers to some questions you’ve buried too long. They’re here to give you the absolute truth. They’re here to give you your perspective of things.

This phase is what blurs the wall between  crudity and maturity. Don’t get me wrong, you’re the still the same person, you still enjoy the things you love, it is just your view that changes. It is your way of calibrating the life around you that transforms.

And I’m going to say it again- it is important. This change, if understood and not resisted, might become your greatest teacher. There is no timeline for the ‘year’ to happen. It can happen at any age.

Some people are lucky enough to have it soon. Most of us have it multiple times in our life. I myself have had it twice. But I’m glad every single day it did. It made me the person I am today. Stronger, more empathetic and more headstrong.

Reflect on your life for once, go back and think about the day that changed you.

You did find something, didn’t you?

P.s- As for the song, I don’t exactly know why I shared it particularly with this post. But maybe because in the video you can see the death of their friend transforming all the friends. Just maybe. 

Love always,

Your blogger.

60’s- They’re Back

Okay, you were scrolling and now you stopped. Good. OR maybe you searched a random tag and bumped here OR it was your destiny that you stumbled across this post, either way-YOU’RE ONE LUCKY BASTARD (Pardon Me) as I’m about to change your life.

Note: Read further ONLY if you love music and I mean ACTUAL music not that One Direction and Justin Bieber crap people are selling in the name of music these days. But pure soul music, like from the 60’s when voices were not ‘Auto-Tuned’ and electronic gadgets were not used to brutally ruin a song. When the lyrics were more than just ‘Swag’ and ‘Twerk’ -actual lyrics, poetic lyrics that your mind and heart starts to waltz upon. The kind of music that just clicks somewhere inside, like a silent consent by the heart saying ‘Yeah-that’s it-that’s the real deal.’

Okay, so there’s this artist I stumbled upon the channel of BY MISTAKE and as of till now I can purely and wholeheartedly say it was my best, most cherished blunder. What I usually do when I’m free (which is quite often) is randomly navigating YouTube to find new artists that are not making ‘Auto-Tuned’ music and can actually sing.

And I found him-Jake Bugg-the guy whose very first word uttered in his song captured me in an enigma-that melody-that euphony in his voice. That rustic charm-that purity-that light brush of folk and country. I couldn’t believe, I literally couldn’t come in terms with the fact that when I thought there wasn’t any hope left for music, this guy perked up and saved my life.

So, forgive me *RANDOM-OBSESSIVE-MODE-ON* but after purchasing both of his albums online I started to search every detail about this guy (okay, fine I was stalking-I’M A STALKER-I said it.)

Jake Bugg is a 20 year folk and country singer from Clifton, Nottingham, United Kingdom. From what I found *opens Stalker File-: 254* he’s a pretty recluse guy that keeps to himself and loves making music NOT because of the fame and the glamour but because music keeps him sane (I’ve watched more than a 1000 interviews of him) and most of the time he mentions this. In one of the interviews he said “People make music not just for themselves but for the fame and the glamour that comes with it but that’s not the case here” (Do you see the reason why no one knows him DESPITE being tremendously talented?)


In one of the above the interviewer asked “Do you get exhausted with writing songs constantly and making music?” 

Jake said “It’s not the music or writing songs that’s the exhausting part-It’s the constant talking that is.” 

Anyway, I don’t want to keep rambling about him, if I continue this cherubic rhapsody I’ll probably end up writing his memoir. 😛

To all those interested to know, I come from a musical family (No, no one is a rockstar) but everyone in my family sings well-it’s kind of in our blood. We’re all hopelessly attached to music, my father was a musician of his time, a professional singer who had to quit his passion for a stable career and to look after a family-naturally I was the lucky one to imbibe his gift-his voice. I ended up being incontestably addicted to chords and lyrics.

Always humming a song and tapping my table or door or any hard object I found as drums. I listened to music very differently from others. I’m not trying to be snobby here but it’s the truth. The chords hit me differently, like they’re trying to tell me something, a secret message (cheesy, I know). No one really understands it, I don’t JUST listen to music for recreation, I listen to it because I need it. Like a bee needs it’s regular dose of pollen I too need a regular dose of music to keep me going.

Okay, back to Jake.

Fact: If you happen to search *cough* stalk him, then you’ll get to know he’s called ‘Young Bob Dylan‘ of these times. BEING COMPARED TO BOB DYLAN-CAN YOU IMAGINE and that too by someone like Stephen King? (He specially tweeted about him.) That is how good he is.

Here are two of his songs that’ll prove all of the above points:


Heard? It’s like the 60’s are back right?!

Honestly (and I wouldn’t hesitate) I didn’t want people to know about him. The more famous he gets the more I’ll have to share him with others. The more I’ll feel he’s not mine and eventually all girls will start fangirling him and I’ll be atrociously jealous (as if there wasn’t a massive female following already). But due to the very loyal fan and lover that I am, I’m hereby sharing him with you all. For him to grow and prosper.

So when you too fall in love with his voice and can’t get enough of this beautiful soul, please keep me in your memory and remember that I introduced him to you all.

Jake, this is for you.


There’s this band called ‘The Script’ I don’t know if you all have heard of it, but please do listen to their songs, they’re incredible. So last night, I came to know about the new album they are launching this month. As I had been following them for a while , I couldn’t stop myself from listening to their very first single from this album- ‘Superheroes.’

Wait! Stop right there! NO! Stop thinking of Spiderman or Superman!  Better. Reason why I’m specifically writing about this song is that finally, after what feels like centuries and in this alarmingly increasing era of ‘twerk’ and ‘swag’ there is a song that is euphonious and makes sense. Both the video and the song are intertwined, leading the listener and the viewer towards the beautiful conclusion it carries.

I’ll explain the message of the song (or at least what I took out from it) in the form of a story-:

Yet another morning, my alarm clock blazed a neon 4:00 am. I woke up hearing the fresh chatter of birds. Still sluggish and tired I crawled out of my sheets. Opening my cupboard I made the choice of what to wear between the only two suits I possessed. I went for the grey one and was about to leave but stopped mid-way after seeing that he was awake. “Hey Brandon.” I said to my 7 year old son “I’m going to work, take care of yourself and be the good boy you are.”

He nodded. Brandon never really knew what I did for a living. I guess he only knew that I worked hard and with insurmountable honesty. I saw it in his eyes and in the gleam of pride he felt every time I brought a toy for him from work (if I found one). He traced my steps outside and waved once, I smiled.

And then everything was the same. I reached my area of work. Found a clean spot and changed to a plastic suit. The last thing I wanted was my few possessions getting spoilt. I jolted my way to the heap I was assigned to. And after a few minutes, I was there. Between large stacks of garbage. I was not exactly a garbage collector, my job was even worse. I had to find all the re-usable objects from that stinking pile of trash. Everyday in the early morning the cranes unloaded their filth on us, and we worked till evening, trying to procure the most, after all the garbage was where the bread came from.

I sometimes find something that my son would love. Perhaps a toy soldier with a broken arm or a missing head. That’s all I could manage for a present. And every evening while returning home I find my son waiting for me on the bridge and I sway him up in the air. We laugh and we giggle and talk about how each of our days went. For awhile we forget about everything and walk our way home. Sometimes even buy an ice-cream. It’s always the same. And every night when I crawl in my bed I’m once again struck by the realization of things that lie ahead. What lies for my son. But I close eyes with the final thought that I’m not giving up. Not until I’m alive.

This is exactly what the song explains. A superhero doesn’t necessarily require a red cape or a flying car, he can be anyone. He can be a little girl who helps someone cross the road. He can be a friend who helps tutor you. He can be your teacher who’s chidings make you tough as a marble. He can be a brother protecting his sister or a grandfather teaching his granddaughter to ride a bike.

A superhero can be YOU yourself. When you rescue yourself from something hopeless or you learn to  find a way. You become a hero. You teach yourself and you understand your soul, your very existence. You find your true self and start living with a new zeal. You give a present to yourself.

And lastly, the superheroes who brought you to this world. The people who’s soul existence lies in your happiness and the people who’d work their best to give you the life you want and deserve- your parents. They are the real superheroes. The ones truly worthy of claiming the title. The one who deserve WAY more than they get.

“When you’ve been fighting for it all your life,
You’ve been struggling to make things right,
That’s how a superhero learns to fly.”

Ladies and Gentlemen, presenting the song ‘Superheroes’ by The Script.