Category Archives: Rantings

The Last Post

I started this blog an year ago, after I had closed down the one on Blogspot (Que Sera Sera: Life of a Desi Burger). A lot has changed since then, I have a whole lot of new friends in college, I am now engaged, I have two jobs and am a lot more richer than I was before now.
This place became a hide-out for me. I enjoy writing, hell, I want to make a career out of it. And then there was the added plus of dropping all my thoughts on someone who is there whenever I need to vent. But I now have my mom for that, we’re closer than ever. I have finally found that I can talk to her about anything and everything.

My writing these days has become intensely personal, not fit to put up where everyone can read it. So I have decided to close this blog down. My poetry will remain in my diary from now on, I don’t think anyone would mind though.

I’m sorry if I seem to be incoherent. I’m just scared of what life has in store for me and I don’t know how I’ll do as time goes on.

So I leave you all with a heavy heart, here’s the last poem that I wrote (a day before Eid, for some reason I haven’t been able to write after then.)

The dead girl stood smiling

She didn’t hear me call

so I went to see what she


held in her hand.

She was smoke,

mixing with the wisps

from the candle between us.


She was dead,

a dream, my silent



Yet the note she left me

was all too real.


It said, “You

are dead, no you

aren’t alive.

You are smoke


caught in an undying storm.

You, my dead girl,

will you stay with me

till I am dead too?”


I looked at the dead girl,

at the frozen smile,

then looked at my hand.


Smoke, smoke

The flame from the candle

burned right through.


The wispy smoke

mixed with me.

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Tomorrow, I’ll attempt a villanelle.

Should I try a sestina too?

Maybe after I master the villanelle.

It might take ages, or not.

Speaking of which, I’ve never even tried a sonnet before.


Tomorrow, tomorrow, I’ll love you tomorrow.

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The Note in the Box Under My Bed

You never came,

You never came,

You said you would

but you never came.


The blade was rusting,

I put it to use.

The liquid will seal this envelope.


There are bandages besides me,

a box of twenty and five.

Four would be enough,

but I’m cut on either side.


It isn’t deep

but it will be once

this note is hidden

inside my shoe?

under the bed?

where it can be easily found by you.


You could have come,

yesterday, today

and done what you promised to do.


But you chose to go

and leave behind

your clothes and your shoes

and oh! your razor too.

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Working Does This to Me

I’m at a payphone

trying to call home

now that you’ve locked me out the door.


I pay half the rent.

It just isn’t fair.

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Do you read my letters? Do you?

I write letters

on faded paper


pretending to work on a typewriter –

messy stains

click. clack. Ting.


They question me.

My sanity


She can not read.

(She’s dead)

(She’s dead)


Are you?

Then how do you speak to me?

I know no


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Globe Trotter

She painted maps on her arms,

Latitudes, longitudes, legends and symbols

Her eyes did all the traveling

Places she dreams of treading in ballet slippers

And yellow gum boots

She, her eyes, they swam

In the ocean, in tears, in a combination of guilt, regret, spilled blood.

The rivers are red, the cities dark

And borders, invisible, countries merging.

Her fingers tire, walking all day

Sao Paulo, Bombay, Normandy

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The Rising Sun Experience – Day 4

Meet Zohair

I’m tired, angry and overworked. I don’t mind being tired or overworked, but angry is an entirely different story.

Today I was given of decorating a class called the Self Care Training Class. It is here that the children learn how to wash hands, button up shirts, tie shoelaces, and all other things that one has to do daily. Decorating isn’t all that difficult, the posters and charts just have to be colorful and cute. I, along with a friend, made a few posters today, putting in at least 3 hours work.


The teacher, she rejected them. All of them. Every single one of them.


I’m not one to show anger so I didn’t say anything then, but my partner went to our coordinator and begged her to talk to the teacher. She did but to no avail. Our coordinator said she’ll tell us our ‘course of action’ tomorrow. The way she said it made it seem like we were planning a conspiracy against the Self Care teacher. I hope we do something radical.


Oh and the boy in the picture is Zohair, the adorable little boy I told you about. He was watching nursery rhymes in the computer lab when I clicked this.

And Moiz, my high-five buddy, remembers me! Even though I just spent a day with him. His class teacher says that’s very extra-ordinary. I think the back scratching paid off. Haha. And he still wants a high five every time he does his counting. Really cute.



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