Life is a farce!

That was the prompt I was given.
I just googled what it means.

And according to all the definitions supplied,
I can sum up that
It is a humorous play where the characters are involved/exploited in weird situations to entertain the audience.

And I thought: “Isn’t that the exact shit we call life here?”
Except that the joke is on us
and we still don’t know whom we are entertaining.


Preparing to die.

Fingers crossed.
Awaiting my boards results.

And unlike my previous write-ups,
this time, I do give a fuck.
(Marks, being the only noble pursuit over here, I have to.)

And in complete accordance with Mr. John Green,
“I am not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things.”
And the truth is that I am gonn’a be fucked.

Although I’ll pass, but not very decently as I always used to.
My assurance about certainly not failing has been a relief to my parents.
But that won’t reduce the disgrace their former star child will fetch them by passing with poor marks.

My papa recently told me-
“I always expected this from your brother, but never from you.”
And I said – “Neither did I.”

It was just two years ago that I was struck by this hurricane of complex algebra, integration, isomerism, rotational dynamics, uncertainty principle and general organic chemistry, which was certainly not general.
And at all this, I just sucked.

I almost lost my power of imagination after imagining those imaginary gaussian surfaces.

And I am brave/shameless enough to tell you that the most valuable skill I learnt in my physics class was to sleep with my eyes open.

I certainly lacked the talent which many people possess called-
Realising the gravity of the situation.

I never realised the enormity of what was happening in those Physics, Chemistry, Maths and CS classes.

English literature was the only thing I cared about and found worth reading.

The other factors/people which actually are somewhere slightly responsible for this devastation,
can actually not be held responsible.
Because ultimately, I was the one who allowed them to fuck me up.
Therefore, I won’t put it as a great sounding excuse.

I am sure my results will bring an explosion of gloominess.
And I may not be allowed to continue blogging for a few days.

My papa, whose eyes I’ll fear to meet
will not be too harsh on me.
But I can’t say the same about my mom.
In her divine care, my misery is certain.

Few relatives will be sincerely grieved
and others will be secretly enormously happy.

I may perhaps end up in a pool of shit
Which I damn well deserve.

I am not gonn’a brag about my love for literature and all this being a life-changing experience.

I am determined to right my wrongs now.

I’ll try to be more practical,
But that certainly will never mean doing engineering.

Why I don’t have girl friends!

I can never ever bring myself to being emotionally close with a girl.

Because I am a girl.
And I know what girls are capable of.

Girls can be the most unpredictable bitches.
And I say that with experience.

It’s a childhood memory.
I once had a friend who later turned out to be something else.

I can’t tell you what she did.
But I can tell you why she did what she did.

Because she wanted herself to be the object of attention,
Which she had neither the face nor the ability to become.
(Not according to me.
But according to a little bit of biology
and a hell lot of consumerism.)

Her wild rage for admiration always excited nothing more than universal contempt.

I certainly ain’t any great.
But she was worse.
(In all ways.)

And in the few moments of her occasional sanity when I would see her panicking,
I believed her to be worthy of my friendship.
But she just proved me wrong.

Her only hobbies were getting jealous
and showering empty superlatives upon herself.

She wasn’t necessarily evil.
Just a highly inappropriate amount of stupid,
Without having the slightest idea of it.

But it wasn’t completely her fault.
I still believe that she somewhere was a little girl who needed to be loved correctly.
But then, I tried it once and regretted it a lot.
Which I suppose everyone else did.

And after giving my due regards for her affectionate treatment,
I finally left with just one desire of never meeting her again.

Although it’s been years and I no longer hold any grudges,
Inspite of the shit she relentlessly showered at me.

And after writing this and clearing my heart out,
I have no more fucks left to give her.


I am finally home.

And from my teenage perspective,
All those nice lines about staying connected to your roots seem to be a fucking joke.

For me,
Home is where you get free food, washed clothes, a little bit of bullshit
and a grandma.

For me,
Being home is a terrible privilege.
It’s cosy but it compromises my privacy.

Especially because I have a joint family.
Grandma, grandpa, uncle, aunty, mumma, papa and me.
All in the same house.

Oh let me add a few more members.
The washing machine,
Spicy fried food,
Hindi newspaper
And bhojpuri songs.
I missed them all so much.

And finally, I got to watch TV.
Those superheroes seem a lot more heroic when you watch them after such a long time.
I even watched the commercials with utmost sincerity.

Got to know some family secrets
And had a hard time believing them.

And a secretly stolen conversation with my boyfriend.
Nothing can match that feeling.

Things have changed.
New things are brought.
Old things are sold off.

Unlike my previous room,
There is enough space for skipping.
But no space for my rebellious thoughts.

The washroom is a lot more bigger than what I had earlier.
And I like to keep myself locked in rather than facing people sometimes.

My own room was way less scarier.
Because it was all mine.

Only the furniture has changed here.
People are still the same.
Some are loving and caring.
Some are always busy.
And some are all-time assholes.

I have just two enemies here.
Mosquitoes and mumma.

Both of them have nothing else to do than to always keep humming around and to suck my blood.
For the first one,
I can manage a vapouriser.
But for the later one,
There is no cure till date.

She, despite taking sleeping pills,
Still manages to get up at night to check if I am talking to someone.
Well, hats off to her persistent efforts.
But I know her way too well.
And she does not know me at all!!
(Hint: crimes happen when they are least likely to happen)

This place is beautiful.
But she is hell bent on making it horrible for me.

If I dare to say no to a single thing,
She reminds me of every single mistake I’ve ever made.
She actually starts reminding my exes names and starts calculating the amount of money spent on my education.

I admit that I am no saint.
But she is my mother
(both actually and notoriously)
in uttering crap.

And I know that if I don’t crawl my way out,
She is never gonn’a let me recover.

According to my writing schedule,
It’s completely impossible for me to sleep at night.
And it’s completely impossible for her to accept it.
And again it’s completely impossible for me to help it.
Basically, we are just impossible.

I strongly detest her ideals.
And sometimes, I feel fucked up.

Although, Grandma is fun.
I like being around her.
We love each other’s company,
Laugh(endlessly) at the same jokes,
And are both terrified of my mom.

I always feel this urge to run away and never come back.
And if I ever get a chance,
Grandma shall be the only reason why I won’t.

Keeping my phone at a public place still feels like planting dynamite.

My body itches a lot more than usual.
Because I am allergic to the tank water.
And I am sick of putting coconut oil all over my body.

But still,
I kinda like it here.
The good and the bad.
Whatever way they treat me.
(But only for a limited time span.)

I fear to stay.
Because this will only get bitter.
Some things never change.

No matter how much time passes by,
I’ll always have a weak spot for this place.

But for now,
I want to feel a little more alive.
And a little less afraid.

I want to escape.


People with a sensitive taste are requested to not read this.
I am certainly not what you are looking for.

In all human possibility,
I should not have been here.

There has been a serious mistake in my manufacturing.
There isn’t anything back there where my brain should be.
And my real strength comes from that.

At this point of life,
The only thing I wish for is to become one of the leading wits of English literature.
But someone has said it correctly-
“If wishes were wings, beggars would fly.”

Although I consider myself a writer,
I suck at vocabulary.
And my writing is a big fat joke.

The truth is
I just like to read some random stuff
And I sometimes write in between once my adrenaline gets considerably high.

I am just an avid girl with deep intuition but no actual grasp of life.

I have no answers when people ask me where I am headed.
I just tell them to go get a life.

I just don’t know how to keep a civil tongue.
I swear af.

I am a night owl.
It’s completely impossible for me to sleep at night until and unless I open a physics book.
I don’t know if it’s intellectual stimulation or my sheer stupidity.

If you’ll get a chance to read my personal diary,
Maybe you would just want to give up on humanity.

There is a nice possibility that someday, I might drag someone to death due to my poor jokes.

Even if I try to do the most usual thing in the most usual sort of way,
I still end up doing something really unusual.

Sometimes I am so overdramatic,
That you just won’t believe that it’s happening for real.

My existence seems to be a really big problem for me and those around me.
I am doing a very special privilege on myself by choosing to stay alive.

My parents want me to act normal.
Well, that would be like asking Donald Trump to show some decency.

I know that if I don’t learn to behave,
I’ll invite a lot of wrath from my regularly outraged mumma.
But I just can’t help it.

Someday, I wish to become a humorous philosopher.
Someone who makes people laugh
And sounds intelligent at the same time.
That seems a little tough life goal.
But I am trying.

I am not a smart teenager.
I ain’t saying that all this is great.
I am writing this just to make fun of myself before someone else comes and does that.

Society smirked, Universe mourned.

She was way more beautiful than just beautiful.
She blushed like bloodshed
And laughed like a hurricane.
She was all you can ever dream of.

And the people around her were just ‘shitty’.
I know it’s not a very decent word.
But they don’t deserve any better literary treatment.
(If you were there,
You would surely understand why I am saying this.)

They were monsters,
With their spikes open and jaws ready,
To carve her with the word “average”.
But she had seen the worlds they knew nothing about.

Their standards were confining.
And she had absolutely no desire to fit in.

She never wanted to become what they expected her to be.

She never wanted to be a good girl.

She wanted to ruin her reputation.
She wanted to disappoint those who expected her to be perfect.

Things like harmony, adjustment and putting up with other’s expectations.
All this smelt like rotten leaves.
And she just wanted to crawl her way out.

After being rational for so long,
She wanted to become a mindless beast.

For once,
She wanted to worship the devil
And see where it would take her.

She wanted to see for herself
If the perceived devil was actually a devil.
Or was it the key to her freedom?

But this society couldn’t stand it.
They called her names and scarred her with taunts.

It was a scary thing,
To stand against those supreme powers.
She was against a blind faith.
And the fight was never fair.
She fought really well,
But her pure rage couldn’t match their evil ways.

They didn’t kill her.
But what they did was not any less than that.
Everything she ever loved was taken away from her.
She dug grave after grave and buried her loved ones.
Her passion, love , dreams everything.
She had nothing more to live for.

That’s how,
One more warrior was lost.

And on her death,
The society smirked,
But the universe mourned.