Running Away

“I was barefoot, and running as fast as I could. The sun beat down relentlessly, threatening to sear my skin off through the layers of clothing that clung to my body, soaked in sweat. I was breathing hard, and yet my legs would not give up. I could hear my heart beat with the rhythm of my feet pounding on the blazing hot, hard ground below. The desert stretched endlessly for miles. Nowhere to hide. 

I felt myself slow down as realization caught light and began to burn, like the embers of coal beneath my feet. I felt his eyes on my back, and something sparked within me. I found myself shedding off all my layers, one by one, until finally I stopped running and turned to face him, buck naked. I stand before you, my beauty and blemishes laid bare for your eyes. I am not running any more. 

I have let him see me for the way I truly am. No layers or cover-ups, just me. And now I hold my breath and wait for his response.”

I open my eyes and realize I’m holding my breath. I let it out in a huff. I’m still not sure if it was a dream or my unusually vivid imagination taking flight through my sleepless night. But the raw truth behind the scene forces me to sit up and look hard.

What am I running away from? Intimacy? Pain? Heartbreak? No.

I run with the fear of some one peeking into my mind and soul, and not liking what they see. I fear that his heart, so white and pure, may not comprehend the shadows over mine. A fear that he may not be able to understand the pain and darkness that entice me, and my penchant for recklessness, rebelliousness, and immoral wrong-doings.  The fear that he may not be able to love me with my dark side.

And so I run, into my abyss of loneliness, the desert of emptiness. My escape from unraveling, and my retreat into myself.

He has my love, but he craves intimacy. What is intimacy if I do not let him know me? What is love if I cannot be completely myself with him?

I’ll never know… until I stop running and let him see me for who I am.

I close my eyes, and conjure up another half-dream. I feel him take my hand and lead me out of my desert of emptiness. My fear has not yet dissipated, but I’m not running away any more.


Trekking the Himalayas

The trek to Roopkund Lake. Image sourced from
The trek to Roopkund Lake. Image sourced from here

Yes, yes and yes! It’s done, it’s decided and paid for, so there’s no backing out now!

I, am going on a Himalayan trek this June, and I’m so excited! I say this with a little hoppity-hop on one foot (the other leg is a little injured owing to my constant clumsiness) but, I guess one can gauge the excitement in my voice!

It’s been exactly four years since I last went trekking, and I spent those years pining for freshest air and snowy mountains and whining about how I have to work and/or study! So finally, yay!

I’m going for ‘Roopkund’ trek, which means ‘Mystery Lake’. It is a shallow lake at an altitude of 16,499 feet, and called so due to the remains of hundreds of human beings found here decades ago. When the snow melts, one can easily see the skeletons at the bottom. Interesting, isn’t it? You can read more about this on Wikipedia, here.

It is said to be a very beautiful trek, as the trail goes through forests and meadows. The difficulty level is higher than moderate, and on the last two days of the trek we shall be climbing through snow to reach the lake. And this means I REALLY NEED to get in some trekking practice to increase my stamina and fitness. Starting today, I have exactly 50 days to up my stamina to match that of a horse (Okay, okay, I’m exaggerating). I need to get myself to a level where I can jog 5 kilometres in 30 minutes. I need to challenge myself, that way I will have to get up in the mornings and actually do it.

So anyways, I’m dipped in nostalgia and I’m attaching here photos from my last Himalayan trek four years ago, to the ‘Pindari and Kafni glaciers’. Note: I am not a photographer, and these photos are only to showcase the magnificent beauty of the Himalayas, any which way I can. That being said, any constructive criticism on photographs is also welcome. I hope you all enjoy the photos, and do visit the Himalayas at least once, they truly are breathtaking!  🙂

Steep climbs initially to gain  altitude
Steep climb at the beginning to gain altitude
The trail

100_1217    100_1313

DSC06944    100_1333

We found some scattered bones, and rearranged them.
We found some scattered bones and rearranged them.
Happiness at getting to call home from a payphone at a small village!
Happiness! I got to call home after 10 days, from a payphone at a small village!

DSC06925  100_1365

Pindari Glacier
Pindari Glacier
Kafni Glacier
Kafni Glacier
Coldest campsite of the trek. We spent the night shivering.
Coldest campsite of the trek. A night spent shivering. (I’m the one in the red jacket)
As we reached base camp after the trek, hail stones that struck one after the other, along with huge droplets of pelting rain. had insane fun, most memorable moment of the trek.
As we reached base camp after the trek, hail stones struck one after the other, along with huge droplets of pelting rain. It was insane fun, and the most memorable moment of the trek.

Sweet, lingering pain

The sweet pain that lingers behind
long after the fight has ended
Dark, cold nights still haunt from within
As cherry blossoms welcome spring

I welcome pain like an old friend,
we’re soldiers of that battlefield –
reborn from our scars of victory,
wounds of bloodshed that wouldn’t heal

I’ve given refuge all these years
And so it remains, comes and goes
My soul, it keeps chasing the light
But shadows whisper of the night

Leaping flames of shadowy greys,
They beckon to my unlit soul
My mind is now grey-tinted, with
Sweet pain to engulf the darkness


Over at dVerse it’s Open Link night, hosted by Beth Winters!

Little lazy, little hazy

You realize you’re barely hanging on, stuck right in the middle of being educated and being qualified to get a job.

You have landed yourself in that spot where you know that technically you’re just as qualified as those with an actual professional degree. Heck, probably even your friends, colleagues, seniors, and the person who politely turns you down at the job interview know it too. It’s the professional institution that hands out those two attractive shiny letters ‘CA’ (Chartered Accountant)  that doesn’t know it, and if they do, they don’t care. Because you have not passed their examination. Again.

You may possibly be more knowledgeable than  someone within the 3% that have actually passed this exam.  Yes, 3%. More knowledgeable perhaps, because you have studied for the subject twice more than those that passed the first time around. And now here you go, attempting the same exam for the third time, ending up having wasted a year of your life unemployed, at home, studying, hopeful, that this time you will pass.

After the first failure, you tell everyone you had expected this. Continue reading “Little lazy, little hazy”

Fleeting Feelings


It begins with a fleeting feeling
A thought sitting cross-legged,
Waiting patiently to be thought upon
And then longer you ignore,
louder the noise it creates
Tugging at your brain
from that tiny little space
Little attention-seeker thought,
trying to engage your mind

When finally you sit up and take notice
Of all the screaming going on inside
There’s an uncontrollable spasm
Rocking your nerves
And suddenly the thought courses through
With an all-consuming fire

It seeps in through veins,
right till the tips of your fingers
Immobilizing you with it’s sudden hold
Your eyes fixate on that spot on the wall
That blank space,
about three inches south of the clock

Then you’re faced with a decision
The work staring expectantly at you,
Or this idea taking form,
which you simply must verbalize
Before it curls up inwards
Like a tight, stubborn fist
That cannot be coaxed to open
In a faraway corner of your cluttered mind.

So there you are, still staring
Fingers fumbling for a pen or keyboard
Work procrastinated, “Something came up!”
And a furious scribble later:

A satisfactory quieting of your insides,
And a grin on your face
That gets wiped off,
When confronted with deadlines.


The rebel

She was a rebel,

A free thinker,

amidst a restrained society


So they heaped blame

To feed their own egos


Predicted her future-

filled with regret

Looked forward to saying,

“Told you so”.


She had to keep fighting

to prove them wrong.


This is my 42-word response for this week’s Gargleblaster challenge.

This week we’re paying tribute to Gabriel García Márquez, who was one of the greatest writers of the last century. This week’s ultimate question comes to us from One Hundred Years of Solitude:

“Tell me something, old friend: why are you fighting?”


Untrodden paths

This Friday started normally. My friend A was travelling to Mumbai for some work and had left home early. We have this little tradition to call and wake the other up, collecting well wishes at the beginning of each journey. But our conversation didn’t last long; it was impossible to hear each other over the noise of the bus speeding down the highway. Other than that, it began as a day like any other.

Then he got a phone call, the contents of which he relayed to me while his bus stopped at a food mall. He sounded like his usual enough self, so I hadn’t the faintest notion he was about to tell me something shocking.

“You know my friend MK?” He began.

I was silent, even a little absent-minded and sleepy, having been woken up earlier than usual.

“You met him over drinks last Saturday. The tall guy. He bought us all Tequila shots, we celebrated his job placement at Mumbai, remember?”

My brain finally caught on. “Yes, of course I remember”.

“He had a heart attack. His brother had called with the news. He’s no more.”

Continue reading “Untrodden paths”