Tuesday, August 02, 2016

Rape and other atrocities

wake up in the morning feeling like p.shitty
check your phone
notice that one notification from whatever news app you have that never changes
but kinda does
how would you know anyway?
“the nameless rape victim”
delete the notification, only to see it reappear the next morning
is there something wrong with my phone?
why won’t this stupid notif go away?
brush your teeth, get dressed, wait for your bus at the stop, don’t care about the men ogling at you
they can’t possibly be looking at you, you’re fully covered from head to toe, scarf and all
only let your eyes be shown
wait, what was that generic song/poem that said a woman’s gaze was the most intoxicating thing to ever exist?
should i cover my eyes too?
will that help me ignore the shit storm rising around me?
oh wait, the bus is here. thank heavens! or not. let’s see
get on the bus, goddamit there’s no place to sit
it’s okay. just hold that uncomfortable handle thingy that hangs from the ceiling and ignore the guy behind you who’s “accidentally” touching your butt
he’s just a generic nice guy who can’t reach the handle on top so he has to hold on to your butt so he doesn’t fall. it’s okay.
i mean, you’re allowing him to touch you, so it’s basically your fault.
the sole purpose of your existence is so that people like him can touch you
now if you didn’t exist, who would he touch? no one. that’s right. so who’s at fault here?
get off the bus, and get to college
sit in your class and listen to old men telling you how it’s not really important for women to find a job, and that their only aim in life is to “trap some rich guy who’ll pamper them
they don’t care about their education
they’re just out to trap innocent boys
watch out”
listen to men everywhere tell you that you suck at math, and let them provide you with logical reasons
as to why it is so
because men are such logical beings (because you have those dirty female organs that distract you every time you try to solve a quadratic equation)
listen to them tell you you’re a bad driver
listen to them blame your parents for giving you so much freedom
listen to them tell you that you’re wasting your time and money on such expensive degrees
spend them on clothes instead
clothes that reveal just enough of that cleavage that’ll get you that job
clothes that they can rip off of you whenever they want to
clothes that can be used as an excuse for their illogical libidos
clothes as thin as that line of “honour” you just dared to cross
how dare you
how dare you try to be a free being
how dare you nurture a desire in you to carve an identity for yourself that doesn’t conform to the social norms of the 2nd century AD
how dare you be unafraid of the patriarchy
silently bear every atrocity
blame it all on yourself
your lascivious thighs
your luscious lips
your clothes that can be done without
and most importantly
be scared
be scared for yourself
for your sisters, your mothers, your aunts, your grandmothers
and remember
it doesn’t matter how successful you are
how many degrees you have
a man will always use brute force to make sure you give him what he feels he’s entitled to
power may be power
but even cersei couldn’t escape being raped
never let that fear die
you don’t even have to try too hard
that notification on your phone will do it for you
now go to bed
and wake up to the same notification again
“the nameless rape victim”

Saturday, February 06, 2016

What is life without tragedy. I've come to a conclusion that tragedy is a human invention. Because what fun would life be if everyone just sat around and chilled. How boring would that be. Tragedy is the boon of our existence. You and I are not stressed because we're trying to survive. We're stressed for our own entertainment. All these panic attacks are part of this big heist to keep ourselves entertained for as long as we live. It's a conspiracy theory. By us. For us. Against us.
Make yourself proud, and find something new in the world to wreck your nerves today.
Go ahead. GO!

Monday, December 14, 2015


Hey you ! out there in the cold 
Getting lonely, getting old, can you feel me 
Hey you ! Standing in the aisles 
With itchy feet and fading smiles, can you feel me 
Hey you ! don't help them to bury the light 
Don't give in without a fight. 
Hey you ! out there on your own 
sitting naked by the phone would you touch me 
Hey you ! with your ear against the wall 
Waiting for someone to call out would you touch me 
Hey you ! would you help me to carry the stone 
Open your heart, I'm coming home 

Hey, you. 
I know you're going through some difficult times now. And I know you think I can't help you. But that's okay. I won't stop trying to be the antidote to the poisons you perpetually house inside that magnificent body. 
Don't worry too much, love. 
You'll get what you want and what you deserve. All in good time. 
You'll find what you want. Just like how you found me.
Hopefully that's a good-enough analogy.
For every single time you tell me that there's no hope,
I'll sing to you

Don't tell me there's no hope at all 
Together we stand, divided we fall

Sunday, September 20, 2015

Hey guys!

Wow I was just reading all my old blog posts and all the comments under them and, god, the nostalgia! :')

Guyssss whoever used to blog a lot and read my stuff do you remember meeee coz I remember you and I miss when all of us used to update and read each other's blogs like it was our job. :')

Blogger literally defined my teen life. Pretty much documented most of it here.

And now all I do is cry over my battered self-esteem and my lack of will to carry on in life.

Damn, that escalated real quick, didn't it.

Must. Write. More.


Sunday, March 09, 2014

Buh-bye, Blogger

Blog shifted to WordPress.
Here's the link.

Do visit. :) I shall try to write more often, I swear. :)
 All my old posts are still intact. So, yayyy! :D

Edit: I'm back on Blogger. Wordpress is boring.


there is something about people
who have a way with words
how they hold a strange power
over people who struggle
to form coherent strings
of words
that convey passion 
something fascinating
about eloquence 
that gives an identity
to feelings you didn't even know
it was this that  drew me closer towards you
how i could drown in your words
and how the same words
could save me from drowning 
in my own tears
my fears
even now, words evade me
i cannot put into words how much i love you
how much i need you
and that is how much you mean to me
words for you, will never suffice

Thursday, May 09, 2013

I'm a cat

In 1935, Austrian physicist Erwin Schrodinger described a hypothetical experiment to disprove a theory in quantum physics which said that a particle may exist in two states at the same time.
It kinda goes like this. 
If you put a cat in a box along with a certain amount of poison, at any given point of time, the cat has a 50% chance of being alive and a 50% chance of being dead. Since the cat is inside the box and we can't know for sure whether the poison has leaked or not until we open the box, it must mean that the cat must be alive AND dead at the same time. Which is obviously not possible; hence allowing the man to prove his point.

It took me a while to really understand what he was trying to say. Now that I'm starting to get a hang of it, I feel like I'm stuck in a Schrodinger's-cat-like situation myself.

In the past few weeks, I wrote at least 35923502398985290345 (you know what I mean) engineering entrances. Most of the results have been announced and I can't help feeling that there's been a mistake. All the midnight studying, the avoiding going out or watching movies/hanging out, staying away from Facebook(okay, not so much) and Blogger hasn't amounted to anything. I failed miserably in those exams which I thought went really well. Serious lapse in judgement. I try hard not to mull over the past, but when I think of what I've given up hoping to do well in said exams, it just breaks my heart. It just doesn't seem worth it. At all.
I still have two more exams to go. And I'm clinging all my hopes onto the second one. 

Until then, I'm stuck in the box with a bottle of poison, a lot like Schrodinger's cat. I don't know if I'll make it or break it. Until someone opens my box and tells me whether I'm dead or alive.

Dead. Or. Alive.