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.



Not any less.

I hate it when people want to be less sure of things.
When I say ‘I love you’ quite frequently,
And they want to hear it less.
Because they want me to be a little less desperate.
Because it pisses them off to see someone so clingy.

I am sorry.
But that’s the way I am.
You are either my obsession or simply nothing to me.
Either I go all the way for someone,
Or I don’t bother wasting my effort.


You might be next.

The storytellers.
They are some cute little kids playing with crayons.
And they can paint you however they want.

You hurt them a little and they will tell everyone in this world.

They aren’t heroic.
They do it because they are weak.
They write because they are not strong enough to surpass reality.
They write because they are not strong enough to kill themselves or others.
They write because they can’t scream,can’t cry.
They write because they are hurting.

They are jilted lovers,
Desperately looking for someone to share their pain.
The pain of being born.

I too was a happy child until I was jolted with their perfectly crafted words.

How innocently I believed the world to be a perfectly beautiful place,
Until they came and exposed its ugliness.

They disrupted everything I ever believed in.
My rules, my religion,
My notion of ‘perfect love’.

They glorified rebellion, defiance, madness and insanity.

They never made sense.
But I always trusted them.
Because they knew exactly where it hurt.

I asked them,
If you had to come to rescue,
Why didn’t you come early?
Where were you,
When this society was poisoning me with fairytales?

But they did not pay any heed
And burnt my dreamworld to ashes.

They made me unlearn all that I was ever taught.

They were venomous.
They raised doubts in my mind.
They made me question everything.
They made me defy rules.
And for the first time in my life,
I refused to obey.
I learnt to disobey.

They made me a sinner.
They made me feel.

Those feelings tasted like blood in my mouth.
They plagued me and made me one of their kind.

They bruised me with reality.
And told me this:
“It will hurt as hell.

Either you die,
Or you become a writer.
Either you cut,
Or you learn to substitute blood with ink.”

I was aching
And the only way to reduce the pain was to pass it..

So I became one of them,
Bathed in red,
I started making others bleed too.

They carried a puzzle
And I was a part of it.
And now they are using me to find the others.

Who knows?
You might be the next part.



Hey miss laziness!
I am breaking up with you.

You have had your fair share of screwing me up while I was asleep.
But now, I wann’a get up.

I can never thank you enough for what you have done to me.

How can I ever forget,
Every time I tried to climb the academic ladder,
How cutely you just pulled my pants down.

But you are not the only one to blame.
Falling for you was my fault too.

And I admit that it was delightful to be with you.

Every time I wanted to try something new,
How nicely you cared about my comfort zone and said “maybe later”.

Every time I wanted to give up on something important,
You said it’s okay.

You never wanted me to grow , to learn.
Never wanted me to do anything in life.

I was dumb and it was always okay with you.
I was fat and it was always okay with you.
What could be a more pure form of love?

I must admit that you are a very obedient and seductive girlfriend.
But I can’t pay my bills with your sex appeal.

You are good in bed but I don’t want to remain in bed all my life.
I’ve got stuff to do.

I can’t let you suck the life out of me while I watch those meaningless TV shows.

You are really hot, but I can’t afford you.
You belong to some filthy rich kid of a billionaire who need not do anything in life.
And not to the middle-class types like us.

So, just forget that we ever had anything between us.
And please go and fuck yourself somewhere else.

Although, we can still remain friends.
And i will always miss those meaningless hours of complete idleness I spent in your beautiful company.

Sometimes, you are really cool to hang out with.

Of course I can’t stand those hoes called ‘competition’ and ‘success’ all the time.
They are very demanding.
But they pay me really well for each night I spend with them.