I fall in love every day. I fall in love with people, places, and repetitive schedules. I fall in love with right timing, fresh paper, and half glasses of red wine that should have been gone hours ago. I fall in love with women who’s names I cannot pronounce, and I fall in love with men who are…


And reading your stories and studying your blog and thinking about you, I realise that maybe I like you and I want you because you answer my loneliness. For some reason, I feel like you will be that person who I don’t feel lonely around. That one person who I truly do not have to hold back from, who I do not have to tell a single lie to.

Once I was told I would always feel lonely, but maybe with you I wont.

Limbo of Longing

And then there suddenly comes that point in time, when you’re perhaps reading the newspaper or just drinking coffee or maybe listening to a favourite song, that you realise that its not over. It never was. You still care indefinitely and incessantly for that person. Why, you wonder. Why do I care so much? How can it be that someone you meet for just a day or two can leave with such a deep sense of longing?

And then you sit down and begin to cry. And you want to cry and cry and just cry it out, for god’s sake, and forget that person. But eyes refuse to water and your heart refuses to break and you remain stuck in that imbo of longing.

wind chimes and laughter

I hate how you managed to make me feel that day - like I’d know you forever, and like you’d know me too. How wrong I was. That long bus journey turned into a seamless mass of nothing and no conversations. All that late night whispering and laughter, telling the most random teacher stories and talking about music and how “looks don’t matter”. And was I fool to think that all that would translate into something. That when I woke up day after day, yours would be a name etched into my skin and rolling off my tongue with ease. I don’t know if you know this, but I like difficult people. People with strange pasts, strange insecurities. The unpopular, unloved ones. Because I am one of those. By and large, a number in the masses. 

But it feels like you’ve got me hanging on a string, like a wind chime going off in the corner of your room that you don’t pay much attention to. A wind chime that keeps ringing in the hope that maybe, you’ll stop what you’re doing, turn around and notice. And listen. Really listen, for those sounds that are practically impossible to hear. Those micro-sounds, which, however small, are really the heart of the wind chime. 

And I so hang on that string, as my patience wears out, waiting for you to pause and maybe just ask me for my number. So I can know that my ringing bells don’t go unheard. And so I can continue to chime till notice me again. 


Oh snap!



Oh snap!


I was told sometime ago by someone that I will always feel lonely. That because I am different and I feel and I am so damn self-aware that it kills me that I will always be lonely. And then I came to realize that the battle I have fought my entire life is to get rid of this loneliness. To move on and to live like I belong. And yet, with each new day, I begin to believe more and more and more that what she said was true. That I will be alone. Today, within my peer group. Tomorrow, within my marriage and forever more. And the fact is, as I write this right now, I don’t want to believe it. I don’t want to see that what she said could be true. I am a girl who grew up on happy endings, a lot of ice-cream and some nice music. I am not trained to accept the harsh ways of life, and so, I still dream and believe that my prince charming or rather my price not-so-charming, with his rough edges and problem spots is out there waiting for me as I am waiting for him. That one day, the sex will be so good. That one day, those trivial midnight talks will mean the world and that one day, in one moment I will feel understood, with all the eye contact and thought and gestures and just the right words. That one day, there will be a boy, a man, who knows the right things to say and loves me so much that he is shocked everyday that he is even capable of feeling that much emotion. 

Books are my hiding place. My paradise. My guilty pleasure. Sometimes, my ugly sin. My cosy nook. My place to travel to when nothing else feels right. To hear the words that don’t fit into my life; words of people that don’t exist speaking of things that don’t exist. But the fact is, you want to believe so badly that you agree to just put it all on the line - just to feel that rush of happiness when your favourite character gets it right. Its much like falling in love, really, when you put it all at stake just for another minute of talking and laughter. Just to believe that maybe tomorrow morning when you wake up, you won’t feel lonely again. To Believe and to be. To be able to just be you and know that you will be loved for you. We all read for that dream. To believe that maybe tomorrow, I can be me.