Cotton Sari

She was my vocals teacher in India. A Bengali woman in her 40s or 50s perhaps who sat down on the floor with her harmonium and her students, teaching us raags to enhance our singing and some light songs to keep us coming back.

I remember particularly that one day when she made us write the lyrics to a Bengali song by the legendary Rabindranath Tagore. I wrote relatively faster than the others so I would look at the texture of her cotton sari of dull colors. She would dictate another line, and I would snap back and write. She sang each line and asked us to repeat right after her trying to teach us the song that none of us had heard before. I sang trying to sing the best, focusing on the tune and trying to match her techniques though I never could. I only superficially liked the flow of the tune but I had never truly understood what it meant.

After 6 years of having been introduced to the song, this morning I suddenly wanted to listen to the song, remembering in fragments what the teacher had told me the song was about. She said that the song reflected nostalgic emotions and its a dedication to old friends and the old times. However, that desire to listen to the song was accompanied with absolutely no knowledge of its name or its tune. I was blank on the search bar. After searching through all Tagore’s songs, one name clicked and that was it.

I played the song and felt like a beautiful energy floated through me. I closed my eyes and I remembered my teacher. Her hair tied in an old woman’s bun and still messy in the front. She had buck teeth and wrinkles to scream out her age. But her vocal cords played so mischievously with the harmonium keys, I can still see her closing her eyes and sing the song. Finally I could realize that she must have felt the song to its core, transporting to the imagery provided by the song and living her old times through the notes and the words.

I probably still don’t truly understand all the Bengali in the song, but I sure do understand Tagore’s emotions because trust me, although I am not old enough to talk of nostalgia, I sure feel the desperation to go back to truly live what I didn’t; like the music class that I took for granted and the music teacher whose beauty I missed.


The Moon Goddess

We both were walking peacefully gazing at the lights studded silhouette of the hills when she turned around and shouted, “WOOAH”. She scared me with her amazed scream in the silent night. When I finally realized why she reacted like that, I repeated the entire expression exactly the same way. The moon looked huge, peeping halfway from on top of the nearby hill, shining from behind all the branches of the trees as if taking small glimpses of us and giving us transient glimpses of her too.

She blushed in orange and floated right beside me as I walked. The moon shone beautifully too but this girl was a more beautiful sight to see. She mimicked the birds trying to fly hoping if she ran fast enough she would lift up. Jumping on one leg and folding the other, she reminded me of the eagles I so loved but more than that she was running so freely with such innocence and such grace, her laugh made the night more divine than it already was.

My goddess, let your skin always shine away the moonlight. Please let your hair be the sky to all the stars you love. Please let your laughter be my music. Please be the child you so divinely are. My goddess, thank you for existing.


Your lover,
The night.


“What is the opposite of bliss?”

“Torture? Pain?”

“I don’t think it works like that. The opposite of bliss is no bliss. There is either bliss or there isn’t. Bliss is attained exactly when we transcend duality and there is nothing in between.”



I thought I was playing God making up stories, creating universes and characters that go about as I wish. I realized now that it was the other way around because when I tried to bring happiness in one my character’s lives, she refused as if she knew I was forcing her to.

Are they coming to life?



I carry light in my closed eyes right after I stare into light with open eyes.

I feel powerful as if I own that shape, color and light.

I woke up

I woke up to find myself surrounded by blue, sleeping on the bed of an ocean. I opened my eyes and saw rays of sunlight floating through the layers of water. My hair was mixing in with the seaweed already. I felt my lungs heavy as if the voids were filled with stones and wondered why I was not floating. As I tried to move, I felt a heavy weight attached to my feet. I panicked and took it off and tried to reach the surface for dear air. As soon as I reached the waterline I inhaled all the air that I could possibly take in at once. My lungs had never felt this grateful for the sweet air.

Now as I looked around, I saw a boat very conveniently placed nearby. I recalled that it is mine since it had my initials. But only after climbing in it did I recall how I had drove it myself to the middle of nowhere. I had ruined my attempt.


I feel so beautifully connected to everything around me. I see spider webs connecting adjacent trees and I feel connected to the dew drops hanging on to the webs like pearls. I feel connected like the harmonious combination of orange, yellow and blue petals in the birds of paradise but more importantly an ant walking inside out of the flower. I feel connected to the tiny kitten that was just a fluffy ball of cuteness and I connect to the dog that has lost all of its fur and looks completely starved.

I would like to be connected to myself too, but I guess its better to have the other end not loop around me.

Zone out

Ice cold winds seeped into my hair strands touching my scalp. I was going to get a bad headache. We were walking down the same road. There were noises everywhere. Voices of my friends echoed behind my head that mixed with the sounds of nearby vehicles. Then, suddenly I dove off into a lake. Everything muted out. I was levitating in the frozen lake that numbed my entire body. My hair flowing through the molecules and my ears hearing only the movement of the water streams. Cold, mute and peace.

What if..

What if we are only part of a story some housewife in her late thirties is writing to kill time, yet so intricately that she has covered up all the timelines from the big bang to the end with all the history that we know of till now and the author decided that the characters should have no idea about their existence or purpose of being there

What is reality?
How vast is our universe now?
What is life?
What is death?

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