Sometimes I still think about you and it all comes back to me. The way you held me when I stumbled upon that stone, the day you noticed that tiny mole on my cheek, the look of pure love on your face when I used to burst out laughing, the longing in your voice when we did not meet for a month, the warmth of your touch when you used to bury me in your arms, the touch of your lips to mine when we kissed for the first time, and that walk in the woods when we both were silent, yet said so much. And then I realize, that even in all those moments, when you were so close, with your fingers in my hair and your lips whispering something into my ears, I always knew in my heart, that you are going to leave.


Another brick in the wall?

So I am sitting on my bed looking at my almost empty room, all the belongings neatly packed in the bags. It looks smaller somehow. And the part I  am going to miss the most is the walls of my room.

My life in these last three years has been defined by walls. And ironically, living within these walls has been the most liberating experience yet. On a floor with rooms that identical in size and appearance, what defined my room were the four walls. Plain, pale walls covered halfway in oil paint, only brought to life by the laughter, tears, smiles, anger, longings and musings, all captured within these walls. It’s weird that with every passing day I associated myself more with the walls, their texture became familiar, the colour became more and more metaphorical, and I found myself strangely reminiscing of the phrase, “Another brick in the wall”. These walls have seen so many people, their shadows, their stories. Maybe everyone was another brick in these walls. The dreams I have had here have somehow seeped into these walls, because oddly enough I remember them all today. These walls have seen me when I was laughing mindlessly with my friends, they have in them the dampness of my tears from everytime I cried my way to sleep. They have the flavour of the snacks my mom made for me, the smell of the innumerable coffees I have had, they know my fear of living away from home, they know my longings, they know my words.

Walls are weirdly liberating. It’s only when I was left with these four walls to call mine that I opened myself up to the world outside. Things which I never learned in the comfort of my home, came to me naturally within these walls. How are these walls different from the walls of my room back home? Maybe because here, the walls are the only home I have, unlike at my place where the walls were a part of the home. The walls here my own sanctuary. Or maybe because without walls, you can never open windows.

So yes, I am going to miss these four walls more than anything else. Maybe I was just another brick in these walls, just another girl who wrote her story on them, but for me, these four walls are my story. And tonight, when I spend my last few hours with these walls, maybe I will try to leave some dreams here, perhaps some jokes too, to make it better for whoever becomes another brick in these walls, meanwhile weaving some new stories and dreams for the next set of four walls, which I will call home.




That’s how I know I love you

I look at you,
Sitting peacefully
with my head in your lap,
mindlessly moving
your fingers in my hair,
and happily oblivious
of your coffee getting cold,
as you are lost somewhere
in your thoughts.
I look at you holding my hand
and I wonder,
How perfectly your fingers
fill the spaces in mine.
There are times
when I feel your presence
lingering in my air
hours after you have left.
The flowers you got me
on my birthday,
I see them wilting away
in the vase,
But I have never seen
roses more beautiful.
And I have pocketed
one of them
in the pages of my poetry.
And everyday
I see you looking at me;
You look at me
and you smile,
As if I am that beautiful sunset
For which you came
To the seashore.
I am lying in your lap
and I look down at my hands,
My fingers entwined with yours.
They don’t shake anymore.
And the thought of tomorrow
feels a little less daunting,
in this moment,
when you are holding
my hand.
And that’s how I know I love you.

Khushi Vijayvergiya





I walk down the alleys of my memory lane,
My mind riddled with a mystery.
Your absence digging a hole in my heart;
A bit of you still left in me.
The echo of your voice fading away from my soul;
Shedding you away like dead skin.
I see the moon.
Lonely, but complete in the sky.
The haunting melody of a symphony;
A chord that I had struck in you
That chord still echoes in me.
My shadow still carries your hues,
Your breath still remains in a part of me.



I have a box full of your postcards. The ones you sent me from your journeys. Some carry the scent of the pine trees, some the salty air of the seashore; some have the fragrance of the forest soils while some are still damp from the snowflakes you caught. I have kept them all in a box. The stamps they carry are like the windows through which I catch glimpses of you living your dream, writing your story. They are the photo frames that show me the footprints you left on those beaches, the sunrise you admired in the mountains and the sunsets that pulled you into a reverie. They show me the world you see, as you see. And when you will send me your last postcard, telling me the story of your last adventure, I will open that box again. I will take out your postcards and with the stamps they carry, I will draw out a map which will lead me to you and the places you belonged to. And that’s how I want it to be. Because knowing your stories would be for sure an amazing story in itself, but living your story would give it the perfect end.



A dark night.
Thundering skies full of storm clouds.
The scene a blend of blacks and grays.
I am walking down the street.
Cold, damp, lonely.
Figuring out the way, figuring out life
which seemed like an unending tunnel
with no light at the end.
The rains start to pour.
Splashing onto the ground
drenching my clothes,
soaking my thoughts
blurring the view.
My vision begins to clear.
Shapes deforming
Shadows disappearing
Echoes fading away
And the ghosts of your memories
to eternal solitude.
And I keep walking
in the darkness of that stormy night
Only to find
blinding sunshine the following morning.


A day off

I took a day off today. A day off from worries, a day off from routine. A day off from thoughts that were not mine. A day off for thoughts that are mine. A day off to meet a friend I hadn’t seen since months. And it was the best holiday I could have given myself today. Often we get so caught up with our mundane lives that we forget that we can give ourselves a break, without going to exotic holiday spots. All we need is a happy place. It can be spending the day curled up in the bed reading your favourite book again, or maybe taking out your old bicycle and just head for a ride or picking up your old Polaroid camera and go for a walk. Happy places are infinite. From looking outside the window to seeing one’s childhood pictures, to just calling up an old friend and talk like you just met yesterday. All we need is to take a day off and dive headlong into our happy place.

We get so occupied with our routine lives that it starts to feel like a job, and that too the one we do not really like. But it’s your life. It’s upto you to make it feel like a pressing job or your favourite hobby. All you need is to take a day off. You don’t get paid by life anyways, so who cares! So just take a day off and find your happy place. Go to your happy place and for that one day, think just about yourself, your thoughts, the ideas you have. Listen to that old song on a loop, read that poem you scribbled on the back of your notebook months ago, draw something, paint a masterpiece, it need not be great, but a splash of colour on the white canvas will give you so much joy you can’t even imagine. Make your favourite snack. Do that one thing you always wanted to but never got time for because you were ‘too busy’. Go cycling! The joys of it are beyond imagination. Lie down under the open sky and count the stars. Pick up your old guitar and strum a random chord. Or just play your favourite song from childhood and sing along. Watch that old episode of Tom and Jerry. Read comics. Write a poem. Watch your favourite movie. Sit down with your family and laugh about the same old stories. Do anything that you feel like, just take a day off. And discover yourself. A day off to really live. It’s true that it takes years to bring about a change, but you would be amazed to know what a difference a day makes! 🙂



It’s one of those autumn days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold, when it is summer in the sunlight and winter in the shade, when the trees stand barren with their leaves all shed, and I remember our goodbyes, sadness and smile, playing hide and seek, just like the sun in autumn.