What is it like to have your heart broken by yourself? Nivedita said this to me two years or so back, that I wear my heart around in my sleeves - it's too easy for me to let anyone walk into my heart, step and waltz on it without a promise. She never said it was something bad. She just said she was worried that it would put me into a lot of hurt and pain one too many times. And she was true. She still is. But did I stop carrying my heart around in my sleeves? No, I didn't. I have just raised myself up to be someone who believes that the world will be a better place with more happiness and love in it rather than hatred and hard feelings. And, today here I am, 20 years old dreamer who walks around with her heart in her sleeves. Today, here I am, a giddy, light headed 20 year old girl who gets her heart broken one too many times. Most days, I don't have any complaints for myself about the way I am. But sometimes, I like to question - why does it have to be only me w...
Maybe you didn't know…maybe you still don't. The moment you said your name to me, I decided to keep it as my own and cherish it more than anything I had ever loved. Your name, your smile, your eyes and all the little things about you - I took it all in, soaked it all in, under my skin. And there is your smile etched perfectly in my heart like a mark of a vein running somewhere inside me, like a scar similar to the ones that line my wrists; but only with a different essence altogether. You also took my name. Almost promised to protect it, protect me from all the wrong and hurtful things out in the world. You hinted a sign - a sign that you were worth it and that is exactly why I let you in. And yet, here you are writing my name at the shore, watching as the waves take away pieces of me - one at a time, bit by bit. Maybe, you took it for granted. Maybe, you took me for granted. Well, I am everything, but that. You are probably thinking I have dr...
"It's 20 km from here," said my father as I hopped on into the bus. "Yay! a window seat!," I say sitting down. I look around, inside the bus, as the journey is yet to begin... A young mother; cradling her child. An old man and his grandson. Couple of college students. A family of three. Another old man. My father. The conductor. The driver. It is half full. And now, off we go. I rest my head on the window pane, letting myself vibrate, letting my head relax, enjoy the free massage. The cool breeze blows my hair, caresses my face, tickles my neck, makes me smile. I squint at the Sun, thanking it for the warmth. With every halt and gear, my head bangs slightly on the pane. No, it doesn't hurt. I enjoy it instead... A Bollywood song sounds from somewhere... Wait, I know this one. Have heard it before. But where is it coming from? Oh, it's the young mother's ringtone. She answers, a sweet smile across her face. Her child is...
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